


Torque

by sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Anachronistic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fitz is Adorable, Old Books, background mackelena, for once it's Jemma doing the fitznapping, google and I tried, the au one person asked for, torque - Freeform, viking farm, viking jemma simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Viking shieldmaiden Jemma is leading the last raid of the season before she returns to rule her farm and her land without a man's interference when she stumbles over an intriguing Scot. A hungover Fitz can hardly believe the woman of his dreams is real, even when she decides to take him captive and place her Torque around his neck, but he's willing to learn exactly what it takes to please her.A wildly historically inaccurate au with a high heat level and a happily ever after.Beta'd by Gort.





	1. Longboats

The sea was bright blue in the morning sun.

Jemma Simmonsdotter shaded her eyes, and she stood on a huge boulder that jutted out into the sea. Her heart hungered for the battle that was coming. The screams of weak men that would die.

Davis Davison slapped her back as he came to stand beside her. “We’ll be plundering soon. How many do you think will piss themselves when they see you coming for them with your sword?”

“Not enough.”

He laughed. “It never gets old watching you, Piper, and Daisy render a monastery to nothing but ash in an hour.”

“It never gets old, bringing the gold and fine fabrics home.” Her farmstead was profitable, with fields sown with grain, goats with kids, cows with calves, and vegetables and herbs growing in abundance. It was her pride and joy, and it was hers. From the thatched roof barns to the twisted trees that grew on the headlands. No man would ever take it from her.

She brought loot home to ensure its wellbeing, and tribute to her lords and king. She was a fierce shieldmaiden. Tales were told of her and warriors, both among her people and up and down the coast of Britannia. They were fierce, and despite her banter with Davis, they did not kill if they didn’t have to. There needed to be people left behind to rebuild.

So that they could be raided again.

Today, Jemma had three fully crewed longboats and was aiming for a settlement further north than usual. She’d heard a rumor there was a kirk there with not only gold but books. Her library was also renowned, and Jemma spent as much time there during the winter as she did training with her sword.

Part of her wished she was there now.

“Do you have concerns?” Davis asked in a low voice.

“About the raid? Hardly.” She pulled a dirk from her belt. It was a tiny weapon, too small to be effective unless you got it right into someone’s kidney. She flicked her long, intricately braided hair over her shoulder. “But next summer…I cannot raid.”

“Does King Coulson have another task for you?”

Jemma snorted. “No, but my farm needs someone who will care for it after me. And I do not think I should command longboats with a pregnant belly.”

Davis slapped her back again. “You’re going to need a man as well. It does take two. And that last one didn’t last long. Not even to Yule.”

“Will kept trying to tell me what to do, and how to run my farm and care for my people. I told him he could leave, or I could cut out his liver. He left.”

“I thought you felt for him.”

“Not nearly as much as I do for my home.” She cocked her arm back and whispered a plea to Njord for safe passage across the waves. The dirk flew end over end and fell into the sea with barely a noise. She turned back towards where the longboats were beached. “Mack, Daisy,” she yelled. “Launch.”

She mounted her ship as her men pushed it into the waves. Davis took the helm, and Jemma’s entire being soared as the great white sails were unfurled and snapped in the breeze.

They were underway.

****

_A Few Days Later_

Fitz stumbled as he left the tavern.

He wasn’t completely drunk, just mostly, way too early in the day. Evening. Whatever it was.

Bloody hell, the drink wasn’t doing what it was supposed to and make him forget the humiliation of being rejected by the one girl he’d fancied. He was a bastard, but he had prospects since his da was a laird. Aida hadn’t needed to be quite that rude about telling him he could go fuck himself when he’d asked her to marry him.

Which he would do if he weren’t so soused. All he wanted was sleep, and get out of the street before one of the new English monks from the monastery bumped into him and told him off for intoxication.

Bunch of wet blankets they were, with their proclamations about wanking being evil. They also said women were evil, which Fitz hadn’t believed until he’d seen the cold look in Aida’s eyes. It was like she wasn’t human.

Harpy.

Fitz paused to glare at the still brightly lit sky. He couldn’t go home. His mum would have at him for being drunk. Or she’d just pity him for the rejection. He didn’t want to have to deal with either of those possibilities. It wasn’t too far to the dairy barn, just across a field, and it had a nice hayloft he could sleep his drink off in.

The shaggy cows in the field didn’t bother him as he tripped and cursed his way to the barn. The inside was unoccupied, and he managed to get up the ladder to the loft on his second try. Fitz dropped onto a pile of sweet-smelling hay. Which promptly poked at him.

Shite, was nothing going his way today? He raked his hand through his curls. He undid the knot holding his plaid in place, arranged most of it under him, and pulled one end over his middle. That was better. Fitz yawned and curled up. He absolutely ignored every thought he had about beautiful dark-haired women.

****

Fitz jolted awake.

He lay still. Something was wrong. He could still see most of the barn’s interior, but it wasn’t sunlight lighting it up.

Fear made his middle drop like a stone. Slowly, he turned and craned his neck to look through the slats of the barn’s side. The town was burning. He could see people he knew fleeing into the night.

Had a candle caught something alight?

Someone, he thought it was one of the baker’s daughters, ran down the road across from the barn. “Longboats!” she called. “Longboats!”

“Here?” he murmured. He prayed, to the old gods and to the one the monks loved, that his mum was safe. Elena would be with her, and they had a place to hide. His mum had been in a town that’d been raided when she was young, and she always had ways to hide or escape.

A flame rose on the hill over the town. That’d be the monastery, which was probably the reason for the raid in the first place. Blasted monks.

He rolled onto his back again and screamed.

There was a dark-haired woman standing over him with a sword pointed at his throat.

Shite, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, eyes that gleamed in the light from the fires, and some kind of leather armor that had to have cost more money than he’d ever seen gathered in one place before. It was wrapped around her middle and fit rather nicely under her breasts. The linen covering them wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it and…were those…freckles?

“Hvem er du?” the goddess asked, her voice melodic.

Fitz shook his head, not understanding her words. He managed to drag his eyes back to her face. She looked rather unhappy.

If he was going to die, this wasn’t so bad. A bit embarrassing to go with his cock hard as stone, but nothing to be done for that now.

****

Jemma had sent Daisy and Piper up to the monastery with the bulk of her men, knowing they’d route the place and bring the books back. If Jemma was lucky, it’d take her a week to sort through them, and most of the winter to read them.

The thought made her warmer than the fires she’d started.

The barn had caught her eye. It was a little out of the way, but often items of worth would be stashed away in them. She’d hastened across the field, found nothing on the floor, and climbed the ladder to find a man peering out the side of the barn.

He’d been on his side, and there’d been a moment when she’d been distracted by his bare arse, which was rather nice, before she’d remembered herself and leveled her sword at his throat.

The man had rolled back over, made a surprised noise, and then proceeded to stare at her tits.

He was rather nicely made. Broad shoulders, strong legs, symmetrical face. There was hair on his cheeks, though it was far less than Jemma was used to seeing.

Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and a wash of heat flowed into her belly. That was unexpected. Also inconvenient, especially because the man didn’t seem to speak any Norse. She’d asked him who he was and what he was doing, and besides getting him to look up at her for a few seconds before his gaze wandered downward again, she hadn’t gotten a response.

Jemma was amused by the fact that the Scot seemed to have not realized that his reaction to being woken up by a shieldmaiden threatening his life was rather obvious. His plaid was doing a poor job of covering up his erection, though Jemma found she didn’t mind as much as she could have.

Not at all.

She usually forbade any sexual activity during raids, mostly because it took time they often didn’t have, but this town hadn’t put up much of the fight, and it’d take a while yet to load the books.

However, she didn’t want to force him, and the idea that he might be one of the monks from the monastery, those men who detested women, flittered through her mind.

“Are you a monk?” she asked in Norse, then Saxon, Frankish, and finally Latin.

At the last, he brightened up. “Am I a monk?” he repeated, and she rolled her eyes. “A monk? No. I’m just me. Fitz. Leo Fitz.” He made a move like he was going to stand up, then must have realized that’d leave him naked below the waist and stayed where he was, clutching his plaid in his lap.

She wasn’t going to have any of that.

“Stand,” she said.

“Um..I…I”

Jemma used the finely-honed edge of her blade to nick Fitz’s neck. “Stand”

He hastily did so. He wasn’t that much taller than her, and his shirt covered him down to his hips, but below that he was bare. His cock jerked as she inspected him.

“I’m Jemma Simmonsdotter.”

“Jemma,” he repeated, giving it a lilt that made it sound prettier than she was used to. “Jemma. I’m…uh…sorry?”

She dropped her sword, and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, propelling him backward against the wall. Fitz moaned, and his cock jerked. Desire flooded through her, and she could feel the wetness gathering between her legs.

“What’s happening?” he whispered.

“Fitz,” she chided. “Quiet.”

She gathered her skirt up. It only went past her knees and was thin fabric, so she soon had herself bare.

Fitz said something in Gaelic that Jemma wished she understood as she hooked a leg over his hip. Reaching between them, she aimed his cock to her opening, moaning as the head slid in.

“Jemma,” Fitz whispered. He spoke something else in Gaelic, and then was kissing her. He tasted like fermented grain, and to her astonishment, she kissed him back.

Which she was certain you weren’t supposed to do when you were…having your way with an enemy.

Fitz thrust forward, entirely inside her. His hand cupped the back of her head as his tongue slipped into her mouth, and she moaned. Her hips jerked, then rolled. His cock felt as good as it had looked, and she grabbed his wrist to direct his hand to her breasts. Her nipples were tight, aching, and Jemma needed them to be touched.

Fitz pulled back from the kiss and grinned widely as he looked down at how he was touching her breasts. It was…cute. She continued to hump him against the wall, arching her back and encouraging all the attention he was paying to her tits.

After a few minutes of moaning and fucking, she needed harder and faster than was possible standing up. Grabbing Fitz’s shirt again, she yanked him forward and twisted their bodies. He landed flat on his back, Jemma astride him, her knees on either side of his hips and with his cock still deep inside her.

The way Fitz was gazing up at her, with so much awe and desire, made her almost dizzy. No man had ever looked at her with such wonder, especially not when she was insisting she ride him. Jemma sat upright, grabbing a breast with one hand and shoving the other under her skirt to rub her pleasure center.

Mewling, she pushed her fingers further back, exploring how her body and Fitz’s fit together. He groaned and lifted his hips. The twin feelings of his shaft sliding into her, past her fingertips, and the thrust deep inside her channel, drove her wild. Her fingers returned to her nub as she rode the Scot, and the pleasure built rapidly.

It crested like a wave in a maelstrom, breaking over her and stealing her breath and vision. She rode it out until she was able to open her eyes again. The man under her appeared astounded. His mouth was hanging open, and he wasn’t moving.

Fitz said something in Gaelic, snapped his fingers several times, and then blurted out in Latin: “Again! Can you…again?”

Usually, she could, though she’d never had a man demanding to know such. Jemma nodded, and to her surprise, one of Fitz’s hands burrowed under her skirt. She brought the pads of his fingers, so much rougher than her own, to her nub, and placed hers over his to guide him.

Rolling her hips, she showed him the speed and pressure she craved. He figured it out in seconds. Her Scot was not dumb.

The second climax didn’t take long to reach, and she cried out as the pulsations of bliss coursed through her. Warmer this time, less violent. Fitz looked like he’d discovered all the secrets of the universe.

He started to sit up, as if to roll her over, which there could be none of. Jemma needed to get up and go, to pull off this man’s cock before he came. He’d probably be upset with her, but later he’d realize it was a blessing he’d been left alive. And he had hands to finish the job with.

Growling, Jemma grabbed his wrists and slammed them to the floor. It left her face inches from his, and he lifted his head to kiss her. A low noise left him as their lips met, and deep inside her, his cock pulsed as he spilled his seed.

Jemma froze, fighting the urge to insist he now bring her to another peak because the feeling of his release had somehow given her that need. Instead, she continued kissing him, pushing him away once his body had stilled.

“Jemma,” he whispered, his eyes barely open. He cupped her face and looked close to tears, which oddly made her want to cry as well. Biting her lip to keep herself from collapsing into this stranger’s arms, she got her feet under her.

She should have slit his throat, not fucked him. Now he'd have to return to the farm with her. It would be two weeks before her courses were due with the new moon, and longer than that to know for sure if his seed had taken root in her womb. If it hadn’t, Fitz could return home—her heart gave a strange pang at the thought—and if he’d filled her with child, then he could stay with her and help care for it. 

Fitz climbed to his feet and wrapped his plaid around himself. Jemma reclaimed her sword, sheathed it, and pointed at the ladder. He climbed down without a word, and waited at the bottom for her, helping her down the last few rungs as if she needed it.

Jemma let him.

She looked towards the burning town and the beach with her longboats. It was time to go.

Fitz’s expression was one of misery. “Goodbye?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, only unwound a piece of rope from her sword’s scabbard that was just the right length to tie a man’s hands together. He didn’t protest when she did. His eyes seemed to lose focus, and Jemma had a vision of him naked with his hands bound over his head with the rope attached to the iron ring set in the wall of her sleeping chamber.

Her toes curled.

“I won’t follow.” He raised his bound hands. “Not needed.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. He’d not figured it out yet. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him, stumbling, towards the barn door. He didn’t say anything as they crossed the field or walked through the burning town, though his eyes darted left and right at the ruined building.

It was summer. Nobody would freeze before new places were built.

He did balk when the boats came into view.

“The books and gold are loaded,” Daisy said, eying Fitz in a way that made Jemma uneasy. “Are we taking captives now? Mack came back with one too, said she offered herself and he’d accepted.”

Jemma shrugged. Generally, captives were more trouble than they were worth, but they weren’t unheard of. If Mack wanted one, that was his problem. Fitz had earned his bonds. His come was still wet on her thighs.

“You could put him in my boat if you want,” Daisy said, her gaze traveling over Fitz.

Jemma stopped just short of punching her. Daisy’s brows shot upward.

Fitz tried to tug out of her grasp. “Goodbye?” he tried again.

Jemma yanked him forward. “Vikings!” she roared. Her crew stopped what they were doing and turned towards her. “Neither on the journey nor once we land does anyone touch this man.” She met Daisy’s now amused eyes. “He is mine.”

Fitz’s face paled when she repeated ‘mine’ in Latin. “Oh.”


	2. Captive

Being hauled into a longboat had not been part of his plans today.

Though neither had been losing his virginity to a Norse Valkyrie, or even getting drunk and sleeping in a barn.

Jemma was giving commands, and everyone was jumping to do as she asked. She was powerful and a wee bit scary, and Fitz was unable to fathom how he’d ever been alive before he’d woken to her standing over him.

He thought he might be in love.

Though why she was taking him with her, he had no clue. They’d exchanged a few words of bad Latin—he was going to have to learn Norse—and nothing about him suggested anyone would pay a ransom for his return. His father might have actually paid for him to be abducted, come to think of it. As the boats launched, his only regret was that he didn’t know if his mum was safe and that she would think he’d been killed.

Jemma propelled him forward to the bow once the oars were being worked, and pushed him down to sit. It was not the worst place on the boat, as it was protected from the wind and sea spray. Beside him, another person was sitting. They uncurled and looked up at him.

“Fitz?”

“Elena!” he said. “What are you doing here? Is my mum safe?”

“I think so?” Elena struggled to sit like he was, cross-legged with her back against the side of the ship. “This huge man burst open the door to the cottage, and I threw myself in his path and said he should take me captive and spare your mother’s life. I think he understood, though my Norse is mostly for trading.”

“Aye,” Fitz said, tilting his head back to look at the full moon that rode overhead.

“He picked me up like I was nothing, put me over his shoulder, and dropped me here. One of the others bound my hands. Though I don’t know where they think we’d run to.”

Fitz tried to smile. This was quickly becoming the furthest he’d ever been away from home.

“I guess Aida didn’t want anything to do with you?” Elena said after a while. Fitz groaned. He’d almost forgotten she’d existed. “Can I say I told you so?”

“Under other circumstances, I’d say yes.”

Elena studied him. “I knew that bath you insisted on last night wouldn’t help. And why are you here, anyway?”

“No idea.” Fitz hoped his blush wouldn’t show in the silver light. He really didn’t know. It couldn’t have been such a good roll in the hay that Jemma would want to keep him around for that. Not that he had any comparison, but he assumed she did. Or maybe Jemma had recognized his incompetence and had been so surprised to find a man with Fitz’s inexperience that she’d chosen to bring him back with her to train him to please her. That was both a humiliating thought and an incredible turn on. 

She could strip him naked and bind him up with leather like a reluctant horse. Maybe a whip could be involved if he misbehaved, which he’d only do when he wanted her to smack his—

Fitz cut that direction of thought right off. The last thing he needed was to be stuck sitting there with a stiffy.

A cry went up from the ships, and Fitz watched, fascinated, as the oars were hauled in and the sails unfurled.

A tall, blond man with a thick beard came over to them with a bucket and ladle; he held it out to Elena. She gingerly sipped, but then smiled and drank more. “It’s sweet water,” she said, and Fitz was glad to drink his fill.

He thanked the man in Gaelic.

“Davis,” the blond giant said, pointing to his chest. He walked off before either Fitz or Elena replied.

“Well, we know the name of one,” Elena said.

“The woman standing in the rear of this ship, with the leather armor, is Jemma.” Fitz pressed his lips together as Elena turned to regard him. “She was the one who took me captive.”

“Ah,” Elena said. “Is that why your eyes are glued to her?”

“She’s in charge, both of this raid and our lives.”

Elena made a noise that sounded like agreement, and they both lapsed into silence. The night darkened, and while the Vikings all seemed to be busy, he had little to do except shiver. It wasn’t fun. He was soon too cold to think about anything else, and he and Elena had scooted together as much as possible.

“I have to piss,” Elena whispered. She staggered to her feet, and Fitz gasped, expecting her to be run through on the spot. Only the Vikings barely looked at her. Davis came over, whispered to her, and led her to the railing. He undid her hands, then blocked the crew’s view of her as she relieved herself. When she returned, Davis didn’t tie her hands back up, and he jerked with his chin at Fitz, indicating he should have a piss as well.

It was more fun that it probably should have been. When Fitz was done, he rearranged his plaid and turned around, nearly running into Jemma. “Drink,” she said in Latin, handing him a horn. Fitz smelled the contents. It was rich and warm with the scent of summer. Mead. He took a drink and handed the horn back to Jemma, who drank as well.

“How long?”

Jemma held up two fingers. He nodded and rubbed his arms. It was going to be a cold two days. Jemma eyed him, touched his arm, and walked off. Fitz returned to sit down beside Elena.

“Two days?” Elena asked.

“I hope so. I’ll freeze to death if it’s two weeks.”

Jemma walked around her men, a thick woolen blanket in her arms. She unfurled it, shook it, and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you.” He swirled it around his shoulders, and Elena scooted tight against his side, pulling the blanket around herself.

Jemma frowned, then snatched the blanket back and stalked off.

“What did we do?” Elena asked, bewildered.

“How should I know?” Fitz brought his knees up and put his arms around them. “And I swear it’s colder now that we had it for two seconds.”

Jemma reappeared, a second blanket in her arms. She grabbed Elena’s tunic and hauled her away from Fitz, dropped the original blanket in her lap, and pointed at Fitz. “Han er min.” She shook out the second blanket, which was much finer woven, and spread it over him.

It was heavy and warm. “Tapadh leat.” _Thank you_. Jemma held out her drinking horn to him again, and he gladly downed another mouthful. It made the cold more bearable. Fitz drank again when she gestured for him to. Jemma put her hand on the horn to take it back, her fingers overlapping his. She leaned in, and her mouth met his. Her lips were honeyed from the mead, and he fell right into the kiss. 

When she broke it, he whimpered. Jemma softly pressed a last, brief kiss, to the corner of his lips, and left, drinking from the horn in her hand, her lips over where his had just been.

Elena snorted. “Are you going to tell me you don’t know why you’re sitting captive in a Viking’s longboat?”

“I was sleeping off my drink in the hayloft, in the barn for the cows?” he started, and Elena nodded. “Jemma showed up with a bloody big sword…and then we, uh…there was hay rolling involved.”

“Are you making fun right now?”

“No.”

Elena put her hand over her mouth as she giggled. “Fitz, only you would have a Viking shieldmaiden threaten your existence and somehow end up naked with her.” Elena’s brows drew together. “And she decided to take you home with her? Fitz, what did you do with her?”

“I thought it was just the normal. I hadn’t ever actually…” He made a motion with his hand he hoped she understood.

Elena looked him up and down, then sighed heavily. “Great, I’m going to be milking cows and spinning wool endlessly, and you’re going to be a warrior lady’s bed toy.”

“Do you think so?” It came out much more eagerly than he’d meant it to, and he winced. “Sorry.”

She settled back against the boat’s hull. “Get some sleep.” Fitz scooted he rear towards her, but she waved him away. “On your side of the bow. Your Lady told me in no uncertain terms that you’re hers. She’ll probably cut my arms off if I touch you again.”

“Right.” He leaned back and stretched his legs out.

“You better hope she doesn’t have a husband who’ll gut you.”

Fitz’s eyes snapped open. There went sleeping.

****

_Two Days Later_

The sun was bright overhead as Jemma’s longboats docked at the quays that stretched out from the wharfs that were a part of her home.

Everything seemed to be in order, with little boats out fishing the waters of the fjord, and the normal bustle of the farm in summer happening. It felt good to come home. Usually, she was much sadder when raiding season was over, but this time all she wanted was the familiarity of her own domain. She still needed to journey to see King Coulson, but that would only take a few weeks and be over land.

She lightly jumped from the ship’s railing to land on the dock, then watched as cargo was unloaded and the two captives along with it.

Fitz’s mouth gaped as his eyes took in the farm. Elena appeared less impressed, but she’d been seasick when a small squall had blown up the night before, and those effects were probably lingering. Fitz hadn’t looked thrilled as the ships had pitched up and down, but he hadn’t been sick, which had pleased Jemma greatly. No potential father of a Viking should be made ill at sea by too little wind and rain to even be called a storm.

That morning, he’d hung over the rail and watched in delight as great whales had swum around the ships, and laughed as they’d hurtled themselves into the air and splashed back down. Jemma had seen the playful creatures as a sign of Njord’s blessing. She was meant to bring Fitz home with her.

Jemma’s steward, Melinda May, who’d once been her father’s captive and who’d chosen to make her home on the farm when she’d been freed, strode across the planks of the dock. Jemma hugged her.

When May stepped back, she efficiently rattled off her report. There were a lot of twin kids born to the goats, the new loom had arrived, a field’s planting had been delayed, but it was growing well now. A child had been born hale and healthy to the woman that oversaw the cheese production.

Jemma grinned the entire time. The order of her farm always brought her joy.

After May noted what would be done with the loot, she led Jemma over to Emma and Fitz.

“And what of these two?”

“The woman is Mack’s captive, he can decide.”

“And the man?”

“He is mine.” Jemma enjoyed the brief flash of surprise on May’s face.

“What do you wish done with him?”

Jemma tilted her head. “Fitz? Read? Latin?” she asked in that language.

“Yes. Better than speaking.”

That he could read pleased her to no end. “Write?”

“Not a monk. A little.”

“That is good.” He was literate. Her captive was smart, brave, and handsome. It was a pity he hadn’t been born a Norseman.

She turned to May. “He can read and write Latin. After they’re both bathed and provided with clean clothing, send Elena to Mack so he may find her a place. I need someone to catalog and care for my library, and Fitz will be able to do so. How is your Gaelic? Can you explain that to him?”

May nodded. “I believe so.”

“Good. Explain that he’s my captive, my thrall, unless there is someone to ransom him. I will have my torque placed about his neck.”

“Of course. Shall I have him sleep in the hall? Or do you wish him to have quarters nearer the library?” May’s tone was neutral, but her look was sly.

Jemma pondered as she studied Fitz’s face. She would barely see him before winter if he had a small room close to the library. A little more often, perhaps, if he stayed in the hall. She didn’t like either of those options. Nor did she want to tell May her plans to find him passage back to Scotland if his seed did not quicken inside her.

That idea had less and less appeal. Even if she was not yet with child, he would be excellent stock to provide her heir. And as her thrall, he would never try to take her land from her. Nor tell her she should be more womanly. That it was not her place to have a sword in her hands. Fitz had even seemed to like that part.

“He will eat with the other thralls and servants, but he will sleep in my bed.”

“Very well.” May’s gaze fell to Jemma’s midriff.

“I will know soon enough.”

The hint of a smile turned the corners of May’s mouth upward. “Very well.”

****

Fitz didn’t want to complain, but he was going to die of something hideous from being forced into his second bath in a week.

At least there was warm water. And the soap wasn’t terrible. There were even herbs mixed in that smelled nice.

Jemma’s farm had been nothing but a surprise since he’d arrived. He’d heard of Viking longhouses, and that they were smelly and dark with everyone crammed into a tiny space on a cold, damp farm. But everything here seemed very orderly. There were quite a few buildings, for people, animals, and supplies. And even this one for bathing.

He was impressed.

Drying himself with a thick wool towel, Fitz was alarmed to find his shirt and plaid gone. It’d been replaced with Norsemen’s clothing. A tunic of blue wool and brown trousers. His shoes were still there, thankfully. Beneath the tunic, he was stunned to find undergarments. They were woven of impossibly soft linen. The under tunic was dyed the same brown as the trousers. The underpants were undyed, and Fitz wasn’t sure he needed them until he put the trousers on and the feel of the wool against his cock and bollocks was terrible. He put the underpants on.

Much better were the knit socks. They’d keep his feet warmer than they’d been in years.

He still hoped to get his plaid back, but he couldn’t argue that Jemma had dressed him well.

Outside the bathhouse, he found May and Elena, along with a very tall man. Elena looked odd in her kirtle, and he must look just as strange from the way she frowned at him. The huge man towered over the three of them and May was explaining to Elena that this man, Mack, was responsible for her. He must have been the one to take her captive. Mack walked off with Elena, and May turned her eyes on him.

“You are suitable,” she proclaimed in heavily accented Gaelic. “Now you get a collar.”

That sounded ominous. She led Fitz to the smithy, where an alarmingly vast array of weaponry and armor hung on the wall, and an alarmingly huge man was working the fire.

May spoke to him in Norse, and the man lifted a thin gold torque from near the fire and gave it to her. The ends were dragon’s head with solid rings held in their teeth.

“This says you are the Lady’s thrall.” May bent the torque open and placed it around his neck. She twisted it closed, and the huge smithy held up a third ring, the ends open and glowing. May grabbed Fitz’s arm and then his chin, forcing it up. The smith seized the torque, but Fitz couldn’t see what he was doing. Continuing to hold the torque up, the smith said something to May and laughed.

“What was that?” Fitz asked.

“That he has to let it cool because he doesn’t know what Jemma would do to him if he burnt her new thrall.”

Fitz was certain the man hadn’t used the word thrall, which made him think the actual term was even more derogatory. Though he doubted it was worse than bastard, which had been hurled at him all his life.

“Don’t worry,” May said, squeezing Fitz’s arm. “Being a thrall here is not bad. I was one once, and I stayed when I was freed. Now I am the Lady’s steward. You will be fed, clothed, and given good work.”

The smith at last dropped the torque, and Fitz’s hand immediately went to it. The third ring was through the other two and had been twisted closed. He couldn’t remove the torque.

May patted his back. “Come, see the work she’s given you.”

Fitz, walked behind May, turning his neck left and right as they made their way around the central hall of the farm. It was the largest structure he’d ever seen. The wooden sides were impossibly long and tall. Carved dragons hung from the eaves, and the thatched roof was pristine. There were even windows, and the scent of roasting meat drifted out of one.

Jemma was leaning against one of the carved pillars at the far end as they rounded it, talking to Davis. When she spotted Fitz and May, she touched Davis’ arm and walked over to Fitz. It was odd to see her in women’s clothes. Her kirtle was bright red, and her underdress soft grey. Gold broaches hung below each shoulder. A chain was strung between the two ornate broaches, from which dangled keys. Her hair was less tightly braided and hung heavy down her back. He liked this look too.

Jemma’s hand rose to trace over the gold band around his neck. It was a great deal of gold. The only place he’d seen more was in the kirk of the monks. It made him wonder if what he wore had once been a candle holder.

“Min,” Jemma said, and he needed no translation. Mine.

The torque seemed much lighter as Jemma smiled up at him. She cupped his cheek and said something in rapid Norse.

May translated. “My lady likes you in the clothing of a Northman, and how your shirt and eyes match the sky.” May rolled her eyes, and Jemma shot her a glare.

“I appreciate her generosity.”

May translated, and Jemma smiled. She said something else to May.

“My lady will accompany us to your new place of work.” May turned on her heel and resumed walking. Fitz followed, with Jemma beside him.

The building they stopped at was a squat structure built of stone and wood, with a thatched roof.

May opened the door, then pulled the coverings out of more windows than Fitz had ever seen one building have. When he realized what he was looking at, his hand flew to cover his mouth. It was more books than he’d ever imagined being in one place. They filled shelf after shelf.

It was a library. A true one.

“The Simmons’ Farm Library is well known,” May said. “But the last man to tend it died three winters ago. Jemma had wanted a complete list of books, but he’d been too ill to start the task. That is now what you will do. Including the new books.” She indicated the crates that’d placed to one side of the door. “You are to care for and organize the collection as well. There are candles and lamps available. Tell me if you need more.”

Fitz couldn’t answer, he was too choked up. So much to read and learn.

Jemma said something gentle and wiped his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’s started crying.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you. Thank you!”

Jemma cupped his cheek and kissed him. He kissed her back, trying to pour out all this appreciation into it. He would have suffered freezing temperatures, starvation, poor clothing, and sleeping on stones for the mere chance to see this place. Let alone to be charged with caring for it.

May cleared her throat, and Jemma pulled back. She smiled at him again.

“I will send someone with a small meal,” May said. “And then to bring you to dinner. Like everyone on the farm, you will eat at night in the hall.”

He nodded and forced his hands not to grab Jemma as she stepped from his grasp.

“Where will I sleep?” he asked, looking around for a pallet, as Jemma left.

May followed her but looked back. “With the lady, of course.”

Fitz was absolutely sure, as he was left alone with the endless multitudes of books and the promise of being entwined with Jemma that night, that the blasted monks had been wrong about heaven being in the sky.

He was living in it right now.


	3. Hjem

It was noisy. Very noisy. Fitz sat hunched on the bench at the back of the hall, feeling small and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people stuffed into the place for the evening meal. They all seemed to be talking, loudly, at the same time.

Elena had come in and was eating ravenously. Around her bites she was talking nonstop to about the weaving being done on the farm. Something about the number of looms and the space available and the wool and flax. He couldn’t keep up with it, and so far, Elena had forgotten to ask about what he was doing.

The front dais, where Jemma was seated, seemed very far away. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of her through the crowd. She was laughing, talking, eating, and seemed to be having a very good time.

Fitz tried to focus on the food. There was bread, honey, butter, vegetables, fruit, and a thick stew with what he thought was beef in it. It would have been better if he’d not felt so forgotten about.

He knew he was only a thrall. Jemma might be showing him favor at the moment, with the fine clothes and kisses, but he was still at the back of the room.

It brought to mind the far too many times he and his mum had been sent away by his da. The man would pat his head, give his mum a few coins, and maybe even a meal before sending them on their way. Those meals had been much like this. He and his mum tucked into the far corner, far away from the Laird, his wife, and legitimate children. The Laird had wanted him out of sight and out of mind.

May’s words, about him sleeping in Jemma’s bed, did those mean anything not coming from the Lady herself? She could easily change her mind. Being here, among her folk, she might not want to be seen with a captive after all.

More likely, she’d simply forget about him.

He needed a plan in case Jemma spurned him.

“Where are you sleeping?” Fitz asked Elena, interrupting some discussion she was mostly having with herself about loom weights.

She looked around. “Here, of course.”

“In the hall?”

“Yes, it’s where nearly everyone sleeps. There are a few smaller places, the miller has his own, but after dinner, the tables and benches are cleared away. A few of the doors in the wall are to sleeping cupboards.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Mack showed it to me. He trains men and women to fight.” Elena blushed. “I think I’ll ask him to teach me.”

“You’d be really good at it.”

“Thank you. After dinner, we’re to help rearrange the hall. Since it’s summer a lot of people will go back outside, some to finish work, but mostly to enjoy the weather and talk. During the winter, there are people who sing or tell tales.”

“I’m hoping I’ll be able to understand what they’re saying by then.”

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to understand by next week.”

Fitz smiled at that. “Aye, I’ll try.”

****

The mead at home always tasted better.

Jemma wiped her mouth as she surveyed the tables crowding the hall, along with the people sitting at them.

Old feuds were alive and well, as always, but no new ones seemed to have sprung up. She did expect a few marriages to take place before the end of the summer, judging by the way several of the young men and woman were looking at each other.

She caught sight of Fitz several times, sitting in the back, and hoped he was enjoying the food. He was sitting beside Elena, but they were not too close, nor leaning towards each other.

Jemma took another long drink of mead. “Mack,” she said, leaning forward to see him where he was sitting further down the table. “What have you given Elena to do?”

“Weaving, for now. She’s familiar with the looms. But with your permission, I will train her this winter. She is fast and fierce.”

“Excellent.” Jemma sat back. Mack hadn’t marked her as a thrall, no torque sat around her neck, but Jemma didn’t think Elena would run, nor was she imagining that swordplay was all Mack would train her in. She wasn’t sure if Mack even knew that yet, but he’d figure out his own desires soon enough.

When the meal was finished, Jemma walked outside to chat with Daisy. There were repairs to be made to ships, both fishing vessels and longboats, and Daisy was angling to justify the cost. She was in charge of the farm’s small fleet, and Jemma trusted the expenses would be worth it. As twilight deepened, Piper appeared and took Daisy’s arm as they left for their sleeping birth in the boathouse.

Jemma sometimes envied them and how they had each other to love.

Every man she’d bedded had wanted her land. It wasn’t her they saw when they wooed her, but the acres she controlled.

All except one. She wondered how long she could keep Fitz. If he would demand things of her too. Things of her body or mind, or gold and cows if she chose to give him freedom. A fuck in a barn was not knowing someone. He seemed to have so many good qualities, or maybe she just wished he did. A man who liked her and not only her fields.

It made her steps falter on her way back to the hall, and she stopped to run a hand over a carved fish on the pole at the front of the building. She could remember the craftsman working on it when she had been tiny. Chipping away the pieces, bit by bit, until the shape underneath had become clear. Her whole life had been like that. One chip at a time, until she was the leader and warrior she was today.

Her hand went to her belly. She hoped it was time to stop chipping, and that her new thrall would prove to be worthy of belonging to her. If Jemma had guessed wrong, the part of her he carved out would not be one she could replace.

She walked through the smoky interior of the hall. A few people were already sleeping, wrapped in blankets.

Fitz was not waiting for her at her sleeping cupboard. She unlocked the door and checked inside, but he wasn’t there. Jemma lit the candles in the little stone alcove and pulled the bedclothes back invitingly. Then she went to find her thrall.

She headed towards the back of the hall, where those of lower status ate and slept. In one corner, there were bodies moving under a blanket in what they probably thought was a discreet manner.

Jemma’s stomach fell. She could all too easily imagine Fitz wrapped up with someone. The figures under the blanket pulled it down, panting and kissing, but it was only a dairy maid and one of the baker’s boys. They would most certainly be getting married before too long.

She walked the other way, and a shadow hunched up in the far corner caught her eye. Fitz was sitting up, his arms around his knees, and his eyes closed so tightly Jemma knew he had to still be awake. Bending over, she touched his arm, and he jumped. He looked up into her face, and his expression became so happy and grateful that any anger she’d had at not finding him waiting evaporated.

Fitz scrambled to his feet but didn’t move. Jemma realized that nobody had shown him where she slept. She took his hand and led him back to her sleeping closet. “This is mine,” she said, opening the door. Her Latin was running out. “After clean.” She gestured to the hall. “At night, wait outside for me.”

He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Every night?”

“Every night.”

She removed her footwear, and he did the same. She then stripped down to her linen underdress and climbed into the bed. Fitz took his blue tunic off, then looked down like he was unsure.

Jemma was tempted to tell him always he had to be naked in her bed but resisted the impulse. Mostly. She ran a finger over his sleeve. “Only this.”

Fitz hastily complied and crawled into the bed with her. Jemma shut the door.

The space wasn’t big. There was the straw-filled bed, a small woven tapestry she’d plundered from England hung on a wall--she liked the bright animals and plants on it—and the alcove with the candle and her favorite possessions. Her mother’s ring. Her father’s dagger. A little wooden horse the man who’d carved the columns had made her. A beautiful, nearly clear pink rock a völva had given Jemma as a young woman. The wise woman had said she’d see her lover in it, though that had never happened no matter how long Jemma had stared into it.

Fitz looked around the cupboard, then at her. Jemma pulled her underdress off, leaving herself bare. He couldn’t mistake what that meant.

His face lit up, and he bared himself as well before stretching out on his side and holding his arm out to her.

Jemma fit herself against him, and Fitz brushed her hair back from her face. He cupped her cheek, gazing for the span of a few heartbeats into her eyes. “Jemma,” he whispered and kissed her.

She was entirely unprepared for the explosion of lust that hit her. Her nipples tightened, her breath caught, her belly warmed, her sex pulsed, and wetness gathered between her legs. There was a prod against her hip, and Jemma rolled her pelvis, delighting in how hard Fitz was for her already.

His lips and tongue were clever as they kissed her, moving just right as they explored her mouth. If he could make her feel like this with a kiss, then how much better would it be with his head between her legs?

Rolling so she was on her back and Fitz half on top of her, she pushed at his shoulder, but he didn’t budge. Breaking the kiss, Jemma pushed harder. Fitz levered himself up, and his face fell. He pointed at the door. “Go?” His voice trembled.

“Nei.” How could she communicate what she wanted? Her Latin didn’t stretch to cover her desired. She touched Fitz’s mouth, and he kissed her fingers, looking puzzled but much less panicked. Dropping her fingers to her pussy, she pushed them between the lips of her sex, rubbing her nub.

Fitz’s eye dragged down her body, paused on her breasts, then continued down to land on the area between her legs. She spread her thighs, putting her knees on either side of Fitz. He still looked confused. Jemma touched his lips briefly, then her pussy again. Her breathing hitched as Fitz licked his lips. But he didn’t move.

If he was one of those men you refused because they thought it was unclean or disgusting, Jemma was going to sell him to the next trader that came through. She huffed and tilted her hips up.

Fitz looked frustrated. “What…do?”

He sounded so upset that Jemma figured out he was completely lost.

“Fitz, much sex?”

His face turned bright red. “No. Only you.”

Jemma wouldn’t have known what to say even if he spoke perfect Norse. That’d been his first time in the barn? Excitement washed through her. “Teach. I teach you.” 

He nodded solemnly.

She sat up and kissed him briefly, then laid back down. “Munn,” she said, circled a finger around his mouth.

He repeated the word, then asked, “Mouth?” in Latin.

“Ja. Munn.” She pressed a finger against his lower lip, then dropped her hand to her pussy again. “Her.” _Here_.

Fitz put it together, and the huge grin that spread across his face was like a sunrise after a storm. “Ja,” he said, sounding triumphant. Wasting no time, he hunkered down between her legs and licked his tongue over her entire pussy, from opening to clit, in one broad swipe. Jemma wondered for a moment if she was going to have to somehow explain better, but after the first lick, Fitz started exploring. The tip of his tongue went everywhere, from up inside her to tracing the shape of her labia, to finally circling her clit.

She moaned and collapsed back on the bed. Fitz’s hands swept up her thighs and pushed them further apart as Jemma slid her fingers into his hair. She loved how thick and curly it was and was hoping he’d grow it out in the Norse fashion so she’d have more to pull on.

His hand left her leg, tugged at her thatch of pubic hair, and then Fitz tilted his hips to the side so he could fist his prick as he licked her. Jemma moaned, and the sounds his tongue was making got wetter. This was no longer just for her; he was enjoying it too. She liked that. A lot.

She squeezed her breast and pinched the nipple. Her body was tightening, but she needed something inside her.

“Fitz.” She touched his cheek, and he looked up at her, his eyes hazy. She loosely curled one hand into an ‘o’ shape, raised two fingers on her other hand, and pushed them in and out of the circle made by her fingers.

He didn’t mistake her meaning. His elbow braced against the bed, he pressed two fingers into her channel and fucked her with them.

Jemma mewled with every push in. He was eagerly licking her, fingering her, and humping his hand.

Her Fitz was excellent at this.

Her thighs quivered, and she rolled her hips, encouraging Fitz to continue what he was doing. Her eyes closed. “Ja, ja. Mer.” _Yes, yes. More_.

His tongue lashed at her nub, then tapped hard against it. She came with a gasp, her body undulating as the pleasure unfurled. Her hands tangled into the blankets, and her back arched.

Fitz didn’t stop, following the bucking of her hips until she dropped back down to the bed with a sigh.

His mouth lifted. “Mer.”

Jemma laughed, then gasped as he swirled his tongue over her and sucked at her clit. Her belly coiled tight very quickly. She grabbed Fitz’s hair, yanking him towards her with a growl. She crested. “Fitz!” The bliss was bright and warm, and she wanted to live in it forever.

“Jemma,” Fitz groaned as she lay there panting. She’d yelled rather loudly, and if anyone had imagined she wasn’t fucking her thrall, that misconception would have been corrected.

She pushed Fitz back until he was on his knees as he stroked himself. Her juices were wet on his lips, and he looked like sex. The torque around his neck, which gleamed in the candlelight, made him look like hers.


	4. Learning

There were voices speaking, which was probably what woke him, but all of him was very warm for once, and he simply wanted to go back to sleep. He moved a little and remembered exactly where he was and who he was with.

It was completely dark in the cupboard, but Fitz didn’t mind.

The knit socks she’d given him really did keep his feet warm, and waking up on his side, his arm around Jemma with her entire body tucked against him, was everything he’d ever dreamed of. At least for these few moments, before they had to get up and she’d return to being the Lady of the farm, and he’d be her thrall.

However, she’d asked him to be with her every night. Which meant whatever the day held, he’d lie down again with her when night fell. The thought made him almost giddy. Even if he was always somewhat of an afterthought to her, as long as she allowed him this, to sleep beside her and wake up next to her, it would be enough. At least he hoped it would.

He stroked his hand down her back, daring to go low enough to cradle the cheek of her arse, then trailing up to play with the ends of her hair. Jemma was strong and fierce. She knew what she wanted, and she got it.

Fitz was rather worried he was in love with her. Maybe had been since she’d held her sword to his throat. Less than a sennight and his heart had settled on her.

Jemma stirred. “God morgen,” she said sleepily and yawned.

He could guess what that meant. “God morgen.” Her fingers scratched lightly at his chest hair as her legs straightened out into a stretch. She kissed the corner of his jaw, and he couldn’t remember ever having a better morning.

“Oh,” Jemma blurted. She sat up suddenly, fumbled for the door, opened it enough to let some light in, and hurriedly got her underdress over her head.

Fitz pushed against the back wall, hating that he couldn’t ask what was wrong, and mostly hoping it wasn’t something he’d done. He really had to learn Norse. “Jemma?” he asked as she kicked the door open wider.

“Jeg må tisse veldig dårlig,” she said and dashed off.

Fitz sighed. He got himself back into his tunic, underpants, and trousers, then exited the cupboard. He shoved the door closed and leaned a hand against it as he put his feet into his shoes.

The hall was already busy, with women stirred great pots of what looked like oatmeal on the central hearth, and people getting the tables and benches down.

He walked towards the back of the hall, but a burly man stopped him with a hand on his arm. He barked out a lot that Fitz didn’t understand, but since the man was pointing towards where the benches were stored, Fitz could pick up the intent of the words. Once the man let him go, Fitz bowed his head and went to do as asked.

****

Jemma had woken up much later than usual, which was probably due to the warm arms and comforting scent of the Scot that’d been in her bed, but almost as soon as she had moved, she’d become aware that her bladder was very full.

Her sleep hazy mind had wanted her to wrap her limbs around Fitz, maybe even pull him on top of her for a quick screw before her day began, but her body hadn’t been able to wait for another second, and she’d had to run and relieve herself.

She’d stopped on the way back to dress in the little room that held her clothing, choosing a green overdress that people said went well with her complexion. She attached plain broaches to it, with strings of thick amber beads between them, combed out her hair, and tied a matching kerchief over it.

Returning to the main part of the hall, she looked for Fitz first and smiled when she found him already busy helping with the tables and chairs. Seeing him taking part in the daily rhythm of life on the farm made her heart warm.

She sat at the table, beside Daisy, who grinned at her. “Good morning, Jemma.”

“Good morning, have you decided where to start with the repairs--“

“Don’t even try to distract me with business,” Daisy interrupted. “It’s already all over the entire farm that Fitz spent the night in your bed. Along with the fact he had you screaming.”

Jemma did her best to try and keep her composure. She lasted for two seconds. “I did bring him back here for a reason,” she said and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep in the giggles. She also failed at that.

Daisy laughed hard enough to snort. “I knew it. And somehow I’m not surprised you saw him and decided that he’s the one.”

“I tried him out first. It wasn’t a rash decision.”

Daisy crossed her arms on the table and dropped her head into them as she continued to laugh. “Jemma, I can’t believe you…we were ransacking a village, and you decided to stop to for some man’s dick and liked it enough to bring it home.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that.” Jemma sighed. It kind of had been. “I could be with child. He should share in that responsibility.”

“Yes, that entirely explains you cuddling with him and letting him give you the kind of pleasure that makes you scream.”

“Perhaps I want him to father my heirs. He’s obviously of good stock.” Annoyance was nipping at Jemma now. She was certain she’d made the right decision to bring him. And even if Fitz’s seed had not planted itself in her yet, she was becoming more and more certain that he would be the right man to quicken her with child.

Daisy wiped her eyes and gave Jemma a skeptical look. “And you know this how? The fact that he makes you wet doesn’t say anything about his qualifications as a stud horse.”

“He’s not—” She clenched her fists in her lap. “He’s intelligent and can read and write. The sea does not affect his sensibilities. He is already learning Norse and finding ways to fit into his new home. And his teeth are nice.”

Daisy had propped her head on one hand with her elbow on the table. “Stud horse. And he’s perfect for you, isn’t he? As your thrall, he can never threaten to take your land or suggest you should sit and embroider rather than train with the longsword.”

“I have good reason to believe he appreciates my wielding of a sword.” Jemma didn’t like Daisy’s too shrewd assessment, because it was true. Would she want Fitz so badly if he was the Jarl and trying to marry her for control of her fields and livestock? It was a problem she was glad she didn’t have to solve.

“I’m sure he does, and he’s heading this way, the cook has him delivering food.”

Jemma twisted, watching Fitz approach with two bowls of steaming mash with berries and cream on the top. He set one down in front of Daisy, and then Jemma.

“Tusen takk,” she said, smiling up at him. _Thank you very much._

His brows drew together. “Værsågod.” _You’re welcome._

She smiled at him and tugged on his sleeve until he bent down, and she could kiss his cheek. His answering smile was shy and still in place as he headed back to the cook to get his morning meal. Jemma caught the cook’s eye, and the woman nodded.

“Making sure your stud keeps his strength up?” Daisy asked, digging her wooden spoon into the mash.

Jemma did the same, the smell making her ravenous. “Would you stop?”

“No. You nearly melted, and all he did was hand you breakfast.” Daisy ate a bite. “I do like his eyes.”

“I’m telling Piper you said that.”

“Go ahead. She’ll probably agree.”

Jemma licked her spoon. “They are very nice.”

****

Fitz wished he could have sat down with Jemma, laughed with her about whatever she and her friend were talking about, and pressed his leg against hers under the table.

But the quick kiss she’d given him would have to be enough.

Returning to the women serving the morning meal, he was handed a bowl brimming with cooked grain, drenched in thick cream, and heaped high with berries. His mouth watered. He waited for her to point out who to take it to, but the woman poked his chest, then shooed him away.

Before she changed her mind, Fitz hurried with the bowl to the back of the hall. He found Elena and sat beside her.

She eyed his breakfast. “I think they saved it all for you,” she said. “Benefits of pleasing the Lady last night?”

Fitz flushed. “I don’t know.” Had he pleased her enough to warrant extra food? Was it even extra food? Maybe it was normal for the men here.

Elena bumped his arm with her elbow. “It’s not like you two were discreet last night. I saw you crawl into bed with her and heard the noises she made.”

His cheeks grew warmer. “I’m learning a lot,” he said in a low voice.

“You always have been good soaking up new information. What was last night’s lesson?”

He was shocked. “Elena!”

“I need something to entertain me.”

She couldn’t be bored, they were in a new place, with a lot to learn. But he was stuck on who else to confide in, and he needed to talk to somebody, or he’d go mad. Fitz dropped his voice. “Did you know that a man can, uh…use his mouth? On a woman’s parts?”

Elena snorted. “Did you not know?”

“No?” He chewed a large bite of food to give him a second to think before speaking.

She patted his arm. “Fitz, I’m happy for you. Though I’m not sure what will happen if you get her with child.”

He nearly choked on the food he was swallowing. Jemma round with a baby, or one cuddled in her arms, or feeding at her breast. The images floored him. A family with her.

On the next breath, his blood nearly froze. He was nothing. Would his child be born a bastard like him? Would it have her status? Would she even acknowledge him as the baby’s father? The idea of being forced to watch his children—when had there become more than one?—grow up, but only being allowed to watch from afar because he was their mother’s captive, turned his stomach.

“Eat your food,” Elena said softly. “I don’t think there’s another meal until evening. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I…she could be…”

“Are you going to spurn her?”

He could hardly stand to be away from Jemma as they ate breakfast. “No.”

“I guarantee even if you haven’t thought about it, she has. If she keeps taking you to her bed, then she will expect a child. You’ll have to ask her what that means for you. Now eat, or she’ll probably have some healer poking and prodding you to find out why you didn’t.”

Fitz ate while doing a horrible job of squishing down a hundred different scenarios playing out in his head. The most persistent was a wee boy on a chair, hair brown like Jemma’s, watching Fitz as he tied up threads into a fishing lure. Fitz explained what he was doing and how it was the best for catching a fat trout in a fast-moving stream.

It’s what Fitz had done before being carted off. He’d even had a new design in mind, and he wondered if his mother had left the threads spread out at his workstation at home, or if she’d already tidied them away.

Not that it was likely he’d ever see that workstation again.

Maybe once he’d acquired the words to do it with, he’d explain to Jemma how he knew about fishing streams and could spend winter nights working on designing and making flies. His mind and hands were best when occupied.

When the meal was over, he waited until Mack collected Elena and then went to his post in the library.

He’d found the day before that there was little organization, and he’d set about sorting books by subject. Perhaps he could even make a little sign for each when he was done.

He pulled the planks of wood from the windows and left the fire cold. That there was a hearth at all spoke to how chilly the winter got here. Not that Scotland had ever been that sunny, but this place must get even colder.

The sun hadn’t moved that far across the heavens when there was a knock at the door. Fitz looked up from the spidery handwriting in the volume on aqueduct building he was perusing. “Yes?”

A boy opened the door and stepped inside. He was dark-skinned and had that appearance of being all arms and legs that children got around fourteen years of age.

“Hello, I’m Flint. I have a question to ask. Really more a favor.” It was spoken in perfect Gaelic.

Fitz snapped the book closed. “I’m Fitz. Do you speak Norse as well?”

“Aye.”

“How did you come to be here? And I think we can work something out, depending on what favor you need me for.”

Flint ducked his head. “It’s a long story. Oh, and your friend Elena sent me. She’s very nice.”

Fitz nodded. “Go on.”

“I was a baby when a Viking took my mother captive on his longship to tend to his own child, whose mother had died giving birth during the trading voyage. He sailed north, but he and his crew became ill.” He smiled softly. “My mother said they didn’t become ill on accident. Anyway, they made it to Britain. My mother fled with me and the other child, who she was attached to by then. She served as a wet nurse to several well to do families, before finally finding her way to Scotland, where she worked as a spinner and raised the other babe and me. The town was raided a few years ago, and I was taken. I did not like my captor, but he stopped here, and Jemma bought me from him. She said I was a free man, and I stayed here as an apprentice to Mack…but I want to be a healer.”

“And you want to know Latin and read the books on medicine?”

Flint nodded emphatically.

“I want to know Norse,” Fitz said.

“I can teach you.” He sounded very eager.

“I’ve forgotten some of the Latin I learned from the tutor my da sent.” Fitz might not be acknowledged, but his father hadn’t wanted an uneducated son. “Especially the speaking, but it’s coming back to me as I’m looking through these books.”

Flint’s smile was dazzling. “Fortell meg hvor du skal begynne. That means: tell me where to start.”

****

By mid-afternoon, Fitz knew he and Flint were going to get on marvelously. Fitz also fancied he was learning parenting skills he might need in the future, though he wouldn’t tell Flint that.

They were covering basic household items when a woman stuck her head in the window and said something to Flint before hurrying off.

“I didn’t catch any of that,” Fitz said.

“It was really fast.” Flint was an excellent teacher. “But c’mon, let’s put the shutters up and go watch.”

“Watch what?”

“Jemma’s training with Mack.”

Fitz had no idea he could blow out candles and get windows covered so quickly.

Closing the door to the library, he followed Flint, glad that the boy trotted quickly towards wherever they were headed.

There was a ring not far past the smith’s workshop. The walls were knee-high stakes set into the earth, and the middle was covered in wood-shavings.

There were a few people watching already, though Jemma and Mack were only talking to each other so far.

Jemma looked glorious, her hair was braided back, and she was dressed in warrior garb. This time she had a shorter tunic under her leather armor and trousers on.

Flint had gone to help Mack suit up, and Fitz stood as close to the ring as he dared.

His breath caught as Mack and Jemma faced off in the center of the ring. Jemma had her longsword in hand, and Mack wielded a hand ax. Fitz had to stop himself from rushing into the ring and standing between them because most likely, Jemma would just run him through and be done with him. Mack was just so much taller and bigger than Jemma that it made Fitz want to protect her.

The sparring started. Mack and Jemma traded blows. She had a round shield in her hands as well as her sword and looked incredibly fierce.

Flint came to stand beside Fitz. “It doesn’t seem fair,” Fitz said. “He’s much bigger, and has a longer reach.”

Flint laughed. “Just watch.”

The fighting grew more heated, blade ringing against blade.

But then Jemma stepped back and whispered something to Mack, who nodded. The fight resumed, and Flint made an odd sound. “That’s not like her,” he said.

“What?”

“She asked him to be careful. No body blows at all.”

Fitz went very still. Elena had said Jemma would have thought of the possibility of a baby, even if he hadn’t. Was she being careful because of that? 

There was a sudden rush of blows, against swords and shields, and Fitz wondered how that was ‘going easy’ exactly.

When they paused, Jemma, her chest heaving from exertion, looked over and leveled her sword at him. She winked, and Fitz rather forgot everything in a rush of desire.

He would fuck her in the wood shavings if that’s what she wanted. Plunge his cock into her hard enough she wouldn’t be thinking about anything else but him. He’d have to peel those trousers off first, which offered an entire wealth of dirty possibilities of its own.

Mack glanced over at him, then at Jemma, and sighed before tapping her shield with his ax.

They faced off again, and Fitz did his best to discreetly adjust his raging hard-on.

A series of cries went up from the direction of the main hall, and everyone immediately turned to look. A man on a horse cantered towards them, dismounting as the horse slid to stop. Heraldry was displayed prominently on the man’s cloak, but Fitz didn’t recognize it.

“What’s happening?” he asked Flint, who looked troubled as the new man talked in a low voice to Jemma.

“I’m not sure, but that’s a messenger from King Coulson.”

*

Photo manips done by the wonderful @agent-bash. Thank you so much!!! 


	5. Syltet Sild

Jemma sat listening to the king’s messenger and wishing she could run her sword through him. Repeatedly. 

Which would be a terrible idea. Instead, she continued to treat the man with all the respect owed to a guest. She’d already had him fed and given mead while she changed to clothes that showed her status as a wealthy landowner.

However, she hadn’t waited long after he’d eaten to get down to business.

“What does the King want?” Jemma asked, sitting across from the messenger.

“The King is requesting your presence, along with the taxes for the year.”

“Now? It’s still high summer.”

“The portents all point to an early and harsh winter, Lady Jemma. And I believe he wants your wisdom on some matters as well.”

Jemma did not curse. Or scream. She merely nodded. When the king asked for something, she had best do it, even if the last thing she wanted was to leave her farm when she’d barely returned. Nor did she want to leave Fitz’s arms so soon. They were only beginning to discover each other.

There was no way around it, however. “I will start preparations, and I, along with my attendants, shall leave in the morning along with you.”

The messenger bowed his head in acknowledgment, and Jemma stood, holding up the hem of her skirt as she went to find May. Not only would Jemma’s steward need to organize the pack animals that would carry the tithe, but Jemma needed May to explain to Fitz that after tonight, she’d be gone for weeks.

It was not a comforting thought.

****

It’d taken far too long for everything to be put in order, and Jemma was nearly asleep on her feet as she shuffled towards her sleeping cupboard.

She found Fitz sitting on the floor in front of the door, his legs stretched out, and his head slumped forward. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for her. May had said she’d spoken with him about Jemma leaving, and that Fitz hadn’t looked very happy.

Jemma wasn’t happy about it either.

She bent down and shook his shoulder. “Fitz.”

One eye cracked open.

“Up with you.” She tugged at his tunic, and he staggered to his feet. She maneuvered him so she could open the cupboard door and pushed him inside. By the time she had removed her cloak and outer dress and climbed into the cupboard with Fitz, he was already asleep again.

She dragged his arm over her waist as she curled up beside him. It’d be the last time for at least a fortnight that she’d be in his arms. The thought did not sit well with her.

It would be within her right to take him with her as her thrall, but the danger that would put him in would be unimaginable. He did not speak Norse, nor did he know their ways. It would only take a tiny mistake in etiquette, and anyone could kill him. They’d only be required to pay her for the inconvenience of losing property, not even a proper blood price.

It could be done to taunt her.

Jemma wouldn’t risk him. Couldn’t risk him. He was too…too…

She needed to rest.

Fitz shifted behind her, muttered something, his hand pawed around until he found her breast, he cupped it, made a contented noise, and his breathing promptly returned to being deep and regular.

Jemma laughed to herself.

She would keep him safe, her Fitz.

****

_Three Weeks Later_

Fitz stood up and ineffectively kicked at the wall of the library. “That’s an idiotic language rule,” he said in Gaelic, tired of trying to force his thoughts and words into Norse.

Flint laughed. “Being grumpy isn’t going to help.” Fitz raised an arm and braced it against the wall, letting his forehead sag against it. Flint tsked. “She’s been gone for three weeks. King Coulson often tells her two and then keeps her for a month or more. Jemma won’t have forgotten you. Think about how you’ll be able to speak with her when she returns.”

Pushing off from the wall, Fitz started pacing. It felt like years since he’d seen Jemma. Did he remember her face right? Her scent? The touch of her hands and lips?

He’d been left behind like a piece of unwanted rubbish. “Why couldn’t she have taken me?”

Flint shrugged. “You have work here.” He waved at the library shelves. “And your life wouldn’t mean a lot to the Jarls. Most of them want to marry her. If you got in the way, they’d kill you and gladly pay the fine.”

Fitz’s stomach turned, and he dropped into a chair. “Would she marry?” The idea of Jemma coming back a bride made his head hurt.

“Not unless she’s forced to. Jemma has fought since the death of her father to maintain control of this farm. She’s made it productive and earned the loyalty of her people. But she’s a woman. Every man thinks he can do better, that it’s the land itself that’s the key and not her management. So they woo her. The King trusts her, but if he can broker a deal, one of his Jarls will be indebted to him. But all of us here know she would never willingly give up her claim to the farm. Which makes you the surprise.”

“Me?” Fitz was trying to comprehend all that, mostly the part about how anyone could ever imagine controlling Jemma.

“Yeah, you. Because the Lady has occasionally lain with a guest who’s come through, but she’s never wanted to keep a man before. I don’t know what you did to catch her interest, but you did. And it helps that you’re her captive. You can’t own property.”

“Ah.” Fitz hooked a finger around his torque. “I don’t know much about running a farm this size. In Scotland, I sold fish flies I made, and sometimes the fish I caught with them. If asked, I would read or write short missives for people.”

Flint nodded. “You’ve learned almost enough to tell her that now.” He switched back to Norse. “Let’s continue your lesson. What are you sitting on?”

“A chair,” Fitz responded in the same language, then sighed. “Has anyone told you that you’re too smart for your own good?”

“Often.”

****

_Two Weeks Later_

Jemma smiled at the young girl pouring thick buttermilk into her drinking horn. It had smelled much better than the mead, and after five weeks of being at King Coulson’s table, she doubted anyone would gainsay her.

Daisy sat beside her, serving both as a guard and as someone for Jemma to talk to that wasn’t male.

King Coulson kept her in his court most of the day, asking her opinion on matters great and small. Jemma basked in the attention, but she knew he had other reasons to keep her close. He was trying to find a Jarl she would marry. Having her farm be as prosperous as it was, with men enough to go raiding during the summer, meant she had amassed a tidy fortune. It made her powerful, even though she was not of the ruling class.

The general wisdom was that she should marry a Jarl, join her land to his holdings, and elevate her social class.

Jemma did not see it that way. A husband would rule over her. She’d no longer be overseeing her land, as she’d be expected to live with him on a farm where she’d have no purpose besides producing children.

Her children would inherit her lands, starting with the babe she was nearly sure she was carrying now. It would be interesting if the men around the table knew that she had already taken steps to secure the future of her land and wealth. Would they still want her? Was what she owned enough of an incentive for that to be overlooked?

Jemma planned never to find out.

Daisy bumped shoulders with her. “You can’t actually kill any of them by glaring.”

“Pity.”

“Jarl Wardson gazes favorably at you.”

Jemma twisted in her seat to glare at her friend. Daisy hid her teasing grin behind a drink of mead.

“Jarl Campbell ‘gazes favorably’ at you,” Jemma retaliated. Daisy rolled her eyes. Campbell had arrived less than a week ago, having only inherited his holding after the untimely death of his uncle. He didn’t know the ins and outs of the pollical games being played yet and Jemma sometimes feared for him.

There was loud laughter from where Wardson was sitting. “What do you think, Lady Jemma?” he asked, leaning towards her.

“I’m sorry, Jarl,” she replied, “I did not hear what you were asking.” She smiled sweetly while cursing him in her mind.

“We were talking about a thrall of mine,” Ward said. “And whether I’d punished him well enough.”

A shudder went through Jemma, and Daisy put a hand on her leg under the table. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard about what happened.” Jemma was proud that her voice didn’t shake. Any mention of thralls, sometimes even seeing the one who lived in Coulson’s hall, was enough to shake her.

She missed Fitz and worried she’d let something slip, that even a few wrong words would hint at his existence and cause his death at the hands of one of these men.

Wardson laughed. “I caught my thrall running off with my horse this morning. I don’t know what he thought he was doing. He’s got an iron torque about his neck. Anyway, he’s a craftsman, so I took his toes.”

“Why was he running?” Jemma asked, fighting down a wave of nausea.

“Something about a sick child,” Wardson said with a shrug.

Jemma nodded and gave the expected answer. “It was wise not to take his fingers if he is a craftsman.”

Wardson laughed again and gulped at his mead. When his attention was elsewhere, Jemma handed her drinking horn to Daisy. “I need air.”

“Jemma?”

The man beside Daisy pushed a platter of pickled herring down the table towards them. The scent hit Jemma, and she went from wanting to escape to being forced to make a run for it.

She rushed outside and cast up her accounts beside the door.

“I’m not fond of pickled herring either,” said a man’s voice from behind her. Jemma straightened up and whipped around, immediately wishing she hadn’t as she staggered. The man, Jarl Campbell, caught her arm. She blinked at him.

It might have been the pickled herring, or it might have been the story of a man, a thrall, being maimed for wanting to go to a sick child’s bedside.

She was most likely carrying a thrall’s child.

“Is everything alright?” King Coulson appeared, followed by Daisy.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Usually, I’m made of sterner stuff.”

Campbell smiled at her. “Shall we return, and you can tell me of your exploits? I’ve heard rumors that you and Daisy are fierce raiders.” His smile widened as his gaze found Daisy, who somehow managed to return the grin. As soon as the Jarl’s attention was elsewhere, Daisy made a face.

“Excellent, excellent,” the King beamed, walking beside Jemma and Campbell. His eyes were shrewd, and Jemma had little doubt that he had his suspicions. “Tell me, Campbell, have you any Yuletide plans? I believe Wardson wanted to visit Jemma’s hearth, but my understanding is he has affairs that will have him heading north. I hate to think she’d be alone during such a festive time of year.”

Jemma wanted to scream. Guests. Not what she wanted.

When they returned to the table, the King halted her with a hand on her arm. “Be kind to the young Jarl, even if you’ve made another choice.” Coulson studied her face.

Jemma forced her lips to make a bland smile. “He will be a welcome guest.”

****

_A Week Later_

There was little fanfare as Jemma’s party returned to the farmstead. With King Coulson deciding Jarl Campbell would spend Yule at her farm, he’d allowed Jemma to return home for the harvest and to prepare for guests.

The night was dismal. It was dark and raining, and she was tired, cold, and her stomach was unsettled. The last had become a frequent companion, which further strengthened her belief that she had a child growing inside her.

The mud was deep and sucking as they road through the yard to the barn, where a few torches were lit against the gloom.

Jemma slid off her white mare and swayed on her feet. May caught her arm and took the reins of the horse.

“Go rest,” May said. “There are plenty of people to care for the horses and nothing that needs to be done until the morrow.”

“Thank you.” Jemma didn’t even have the fortitude to speak above a whisper. May handed the horses’ reins to one of the stable boys and guided Jemma to the planks of wood that served as a walkway through the mud.

Leaving May to talk to Davis, Jemma trudged to the great hall, which was warm and dry. She stood outside her cupboard and dropped her outer gear and clothing to the floor. Her undertunic was damp, but she’d ran out of strength to peel it off, and instead opened the door and climbed in, pulling it shut behind her while shivering so hard her teeth chattered.

She started to move forward, looking for the edge of her quilt. Under her hands, she felt a solid body lying in the middle of her bed.

It sat up and yelped.

“Fitz?” she asked, thinking that was who her numb fingers had outlined.

“Jemma!” he rasped, and his hands found her in the dark, sweeping over her. “You’re wet. Get this off.” He grabbed her tunic and yanked it over her head.

“Fitz,” Jemma said. “You’re speaking Norse.”

“I try.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, now get under the covers.” He helped her rearrange herself on her side and pulled her flush against him. Her hands found the edge of the tunic he was wearing, and she pushed them underneath, making him squeak. “Your fingers are ice.”

“Sorry.” She started to pull them away, but then his hand covered them from the other side of his tunic.

“You leave them. Warm up.” He settled the blankets around them and helped her bury into the heat of him and the bed.

“Thank you,” she said. Jemma was absurdly happy to be back where she belonged and grateful that Fitz was willing to take care of her. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she cuddled against him and inhaled his scent. She took a shuddering breath, and a sob escaped, then another one.

“Jemma?”

“I’m just so happy to be home and with you.”

Fitz made soft sounds as he soothed his hand up and down her back.

She would have hated anyone else seeing her cry, but it felt like it was allowable in his arms.

She shook with sobs for a long time. Finally, the crying decreased until it was little sniffs as she started to warm up, and sleep followed not very far behind.

****

Fitz’s head was muzzy when he woke, and it took him a moment to remember Jemma showing up soaked to the bone and freezing. She’d sobbed against him and then fell fast asleep. Once she’d no longer been a block of ice, he’d drifted back off too.

She wasn’t asleep now. Her fingers were exploring him, and her leg was over his hip as she rocked her core against his morning erection and made tiny mewling noises.

“Good morning?” he tried.

“Good morning!” her voice was bright, not a hint of all the crying she’d done remained. Her hand went to his cheek, scratched at his beard, which he was relieved was finally coming in decently, and guided his mouth to hers. She kissed him like a summer storm. Lightly, and then with a thunderous outpouring of need.

In the dark of the cupboard, Fitz found her breasts and cradled one in his hand. He brushed his thumb over her nipple, and she moaned. It felt fuller than he remembered.

Now that he had the words, there was so much he wanted to say to her, but none of it seemed as important as kissing her or touching her. Being inside her.

“I missed you,” he got out around kisses, as he played with her tit.

She caught the wrist of the hand he had on her breast. “Gentle,” she said.

“Sorry.” He was messing this up. He’d started crawling into her sleeping cupboard because the blankets smelled like her and he’d missed her so bloody much, and now with her here he was doing things wrong. “I’m sorry.”

“It feels good,” she said. “But not too rough, they’re tender.”

“Is that normal?” Fitz knew he should have paid more attention to his lessons of human form and function. Not that he could recall any of it being about women.

Jemma laughed and somehow pulled him on top of her, with her legs around his hips. Her hand slid down his chest to wrap around his cock, and Fitz moaned. His hips jerked slightly. Jemma rubbed the head of his cock over her folds, which were already fantastically slick.

“Yes, it’s normal,” Jemma said, nuzzling his face. “It is too soon to be completely sure, but I believe I’m with child.” Her hips surged upwards, taking all of his cock in, and Fitz had a moment of vertigo.

“Mine?” he asked, hardly believing her words.

Jemma laughed again and swiveled her hips in a way that only made him dizzier. “Of course, I brought you home with me for a reason.”

It was too much at once to figure out, so Fitz did what nature demanded, and kissed Jemma while thrusting his cock roughly into her welcoming heat.

She moaned, her body lifting to meet his. Her hands clawed at his back. “Good, Fitz, so good.”

“Jemma,” he groaned, trying to stop his mad rush to completion because he wanted her to come too. Using all the willpower he had, he slowed down his plunges into her. Bracing himself on one hand, he brought the other to the little nub between her legs she liked to have touched.

The response wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Jemma squawked and both her hands grabbed his arse and yanked him towards her, her hips churning as she fucked him. Her teeth gripped his shoulder. “More,” she gasped. “Harder.”

He could do that. He could do anything she asked. He braced his knees and snapped his hips forward on every inward push. Jemma quivered under him. Her back arched, and her entire body pulsed along with her pussy as she came. The noises she made were as unrestrained as her movements, and Fitz could barely believe it was him that had driven her to this.

She dropped back against the bed, still making sounds of enjoyment, and Fitz nuzzled her cheek before pressing his face to her neck. His body wasn’t entirely under his control as he continued to fuck her wildly.

“Come, Fitz,” she said, her hands stroking his back. “I want it.”

“Jemma,” he groaned. He could deny her nothing. Light danced behind his eyelids as his peak caught him. He roared his climax, plunging a last time deep between her legs as his cock pulsed out his release. He’d missed her.

Fitz nearly dropped on top of her before remembering she could be carrying his child and probably didn’t need him to squish her. Muscles trembling, he collapsed beside her instead, leaving only his hand over her belly.

“That was nice,” Jemma said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Did I do it right?” He hoped she could tell he was teasing because he was certain he’d pleased her.

“Very right, and I want to stay here longer, but I really need to pee.”

He laughed as she scrambled around, pulled a garment over her head, and opened the door to hastily run for the privy. That she’d ended up in his overtunic only made him laugh harder until he realized that the day was already well underway. Which meant most of the hall had to have heard them. Face burning, Fitz left the door cracked for light as he pulled on his underthings, trousers, and undertunic. He slipped out of the cupboard, closed the door, and went to grab bread and butter for his breakfast.

The old woman who was handing it out winked at him, and he ended up with a slice of cheese as well.

Fitz went to sit beside Elena while doing his best not to look at anyone. “Don’t say anything,” he said as he took a bite of the cheese.

Elena patted his arm. “I’m just happy you and the Lady are getting along so well. Thank you for not leaving us wondering about that.”

Fitz dropped his face into his hands.

****

There was so much to do to prepare the farm for winter, and nearly every able-bodied person Jemma had was out harvesting in the fields.

Or carrying the stalks to dry, or taking the oats and barley to be threshed and winnowed, or transporting both hay and grain to storage for the coming hard months. There was a winter slaughter coming, enough kids, lambs, and calves had been born that some of the older animals would need to be culled if there was to be enough fodder for those left.

The farm was abnormally quiet as she walked among the buildings, staying on the wooden planks and out of the mud. The afternoon sun was bright in a clear sky, and the fields should be drying well.

As Jemma had been expecting, she found Fitz still at the library, along with Flint. They both held sticks, and Fitz was having the boy write out conjugations in the mud.

Her chest warmed at the sight.

“Hello, you two,” she called. Fitz grinned widely at her as Flint scrambled to his feet. “Flint,” she said, and she almost laughed at the eye roll he tried to hold back because he knew what was coming. “Thank Fitz for your lesson and go help in the north fields.”

He turned to Fitz. “Thank you for helping me with my writing today.”

“You’re welcome,” Fitz replied. “And thank you for all the new words today.” Flint nodded, waved, and jogged off. Turning to her, Fitz gestured towards the Library. “I can show you what I have been doing and the catalog I am making.”

“Please.” She followed him inside, getting a brief impression of sheets of vellum on a lectern, piles of books in various places around the room, and a few of the shelves with neat rows, but then Fitz kissed her. In the next breath, she was spun and pushed against the wooden wall, with Fitz pressing his cock against her arse. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, the words coming out breathless and not stern like she’d meant them to. Between her legs, she was wet with need.

Fitz ground against her backside. “You didn’t have to send Flint away if you were only asking about books.” He nipped at her earlobe. “So I knew it was something else you wanted.”

Jemma quivered with delight, then tensed her muscles. In a smooth motion, she ducked under Fitz’s arm, turned, grabbed his tunic, and propelled him backward. He ended up sitting in one of the sturdy chairs, as she’d planned, and she straddled his lap.

“Aye, you figured me out,” she said softly, stroking her fingers over his cheek. His eyes were the color of a summer sky, and she adored how awed his face was. “But I want to look at you.” She undid the clasps of her broaches, and the top of her outer dress fell away. “And I want you to look at me.”

He cupped her breast tenderly, but then slid one hand down to spread out over her lower belly.

“Jemma,” he said, voice rough. “What do you expect of me?”

For a second she was worried because she’d thought that was obvious, but he looked up at her with a pained expression. She thought of Wardson’s thrall, punished for loving their child. Her words were rushed. “I expect hale and hearty sons and daughters. A well cared for library. Someone to warm my bed at night.”

He silently mumbled the sons and daughters part to himself, and his arms went around her as he clearly realized she meant more than one.

Jemma cradled his head against her chest. “Tell me you won’t leave me,” she whispered.

“Never.” Fitz’s hands pulled up her dress, and she lifted herself onto her knees as he undid the front of his trousers and underthings. His hands guided her back down onto his cock as his eyes searched her face. “Will I be allowed…to help raise them? Will they have your status?”

The question was fair, she supposed, and he deserved an answer. “They will be Karls, like me,” she said. “And of course you will help. I would allow nothing less.” She couldn’t imagine him not loving his children.

“You are a good woman, Jemma Simmonsdottir.” He thrust his hips up, and she moaned.

Her fingers found the torque around his neck. “And you, Leopold Fitz, are mine.”


	6. Games

_Nine Days Before Yule_

Jemma sat near the hearth with Daisy, watching smoke rise through the hole in the roof.

“You have to tell him,” Daisy said. “Campbell is due to arrive in less than a week.”

“I know.” All the preparations were made, including space being cleared in the hall for their guests. Her last, unpleasant task was to tell Fitz to keep his distance while the Jarl and his retinue were here. They’d certainly hear tales of her lying with her thrall, but it would be different, and possibly dangerous to Fitz, if Campbell saw him entering her sleeping cupboard.

Of course, Campbell’s chances of marring her didn’t improve if Fitz wasn’t about. She’d already made her choices as to the future of the farm. Her heir already existed.

Jemma’s winter dress hid her expanding belly for now. Not that she imagined most of the people on the farm hadn’t noticed the pregnancy.

The baby kicked, and Jemma pressed a hand to the spot. When she’d felt the child quicken in her womb, those first soft flutterings of life had been some of the happiest of her life. They’d quickly become stronger, and now Fitz could feel them as well. She often went to sleep and woke up with his hand on her belly, his fingers stroking and tapping at the place his child was currently mauling.

Jemma loved that they were rarely apart. Now that the library was neatly arranged and the catalog complete, Fitz had only needed to spend part of the day there. After she’d found him taking apart a winnowing fork to see if he could improve it, she’d asked him to accompany her as she oversaw the farm.

It’d worried her at first, even though Fitz had sworn up and down that he’d been someone of no import in Scotland. Jemma had been certain he’d start trying to overstep his place and intrude his opinions on her every decision. She needn’t have worried. Instead, he’d asked questions. When she declared that the southern barn should be stocked with hay first, he’d waited until her overseers were gone before quizzing her on why. When she explained that it received more heat and was a dryer place to store the fodder, he’d asked to be allowed to go and examine both barns. It resulted in the drawings that were laid out in the library for improvements to the conditions of the north barn to make it as good a place to store grain.

Jemma knew, without a doubt, that she never wanted another man in her life. Having to pay court to Campbell while keeping him from trying to woo her was not going to be enjoyable. Next Yule she would insist on no one visiting so that she and Fitz could enjoy the festival together with their child.

Daisy put her hand over Jemma’s. “You can’t be rubbing your belly constantly while they’re here either.”

“You’re right.” Jemma sighed and sat on her hands. She found Fitz in the crowded hall, he was playing a dice game with Flint, and they were both laughing.

“Jemma, you also can’t endlessly make eyes at your thrall the entire time.”

Jemma groaned. “I hate this.”

“Free him, marry him, and then introduce him to Campbell as your husband.”

Jemma’s gaze dropped to the fire. “Fitz becomes lord then, and this hall will no longer belong to Jemma Simmonsdottir.”

Daisy made a face. “In name only. We all know Fitz. He’s not going to overrule you.”

“We think we know him.” She glanced at Daisy. “My father was a just man, but even he wanted to set aside my mother to try and have a son. He bedded other women in the same hope. If he had not died when he had, it is likely he would have selected a husband for me himself rather than passing the farm directly to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know how hard I fought in the King’s court to ensure I inherited this holding. Losing it to any man, even one I feel strongly for, is not an option.”

Daisy nodded. “I understand. Nobody wants to keep the farm in your hands more than all of us.” She glanced over at Piper.

“I second that.” Davis sat down on Jemma’s other side. “Jemma, you have been a blessing to this place.” He nodded towards where Mack, Elena by his side, was holding a drinking horn and laughing as they talked with May. “Those two are getting along well enough, and he never made her officially his thrall.”

“It’s different for me.” Jemma was growing tired of this questioning. “Davis, your wife gave birth this summer, tell me about how it’s going with your little one.”

Davis’ eyes lit up, and Jemma was certain she wouldn’t be questioned again for the rest of the evening. Her gaze returned to Fitz.

****

The candles were lit in the alcove of the sleeping chamber. Jemma had entered to find Fitz already there, his chest bare and his legs under the quilts. She had no doubt all of him was naked. Except for his feet. He really loved his socks.

She had only her underdress on, meaning the roundness of her belly was clearly visible. He eyed her with a grin from where he was lying half propped up against the wall. The rose-colored stone she kept beside the candles was in his hands, and he was tossing it back and forth between them.

“Fitz,” she said softly, determined to get the bad news over with. “I…I…while the Jarl is here, you can’t sleep with me and should stay towards the back of the hall. I’m sorry.” It came out in a rush, and she bit her lip, waiting for his response.

“Aye,” he said. “Flint said as much to me weeks ago. I was wondering when you were going to get around to informing me. Thought it might be as this Campbell was riding into the yard.” His grin let her know he was teasing, but she still scowled at him.

“You could have said something.”

“More fun watching you work it around in your head.”

Jemma sighed and pressed the heel of her hand to her jaw.

Fitz, still grinning, held the pink stone up to his eye while closing the other.

Jemma stilled as she laid a hand on her middle. The memory was perfectly clear in her mind of the Völva’s bright smile as the woman set the stone on Jemma’s palm.

“You’ll see your love through that,” the Völva had said. “One day.” Jemma had thought the woman had meant it was a scrying stone and that the image of who she’d love would appear in its depths. Maybe the words had been a much more literal statement.

Jemma rubbed her belly and held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

Fitz handed it over, and Jemma raised the stone to her eye. It was translucent enough she could see him grinning at her through it. He raised his hands over his head, crossing his wrists, as his smile widened enough that she could see his dimples.

The old woman hadn’t lied. There was her love.

She dropped her hand to her side and shuffled up Fitz’s body until her knees were on either side of his hips. He kept his hands above his head as she leaned forward. She dropped the stone back in its place in the alcove as she claimed his mouth.

Fitz kissed her hungrily. It was if he could never get enough of her. She felt the same. They could wake up together, spend part of the workday together, game together in the crowded winter hall, or listen as tales were told while sitting beside each other, and fall asleep entwined, and it was all not enough for her. Jemma had become very used to him always being there.

The only thing he wouldn’t share with her was much about his past. He always said it didn’t matter and brushed off her questions.

If it was supposed to make her not worry, it wasn’t working. Did he want to leave her? If she removed the torque, would he flee? The thought of no Fitz was unbearable, so every time she’d thought it might be best to free him, she’d stayed her hand. She’d always kept a tight hold on her farm, and that had made it wealthy. Soon, perhaps after the babe was born, she’d do it, remove the collar and hope he was happy enough here to remain with her and his child.

Fitz brought his hands down, first to cup her face as she kissed him, then stroking down her back. One brushed against her belly, and the baby kicked hard. Fitz broke the kiss and laughed. “She’s awake, I see.”

“He’s getting strong,” Jemma said. Fitz was certain they were having a daughter, and she was sure it was a son. The farm’s priestess had cast the runes, said they foretold a healthy baby, and that was all. Jemma hadn’t wanted to provoke the wrath of the gods by asking again. So she and Fitz disagreed and never missed a chance to work it into conversation. Jemma traced her fingers over his mouth. “Maybe you should sing him a lullaby?”

Jemma had learned that her thrall could sing when she’d passed the bathhouse during the fall. She’d even coaxed him into singing a few songs in the hall. May had told her the songs were about the Celtic gods and goddess, or stories of brave men and women. Not much different from what Norsemen sang about.

Fitz usually became very shy, even though his voice was lovely, but when it was just her and him, he’d gladly sing for her. He cleared his through and began a tune she recognized.

“I like this one,” she said, nuzzling his jaw. His beard was thicker now, though not very long yet, and she liked the feel of it against her cheek. Or her inner thighs.

He chuckled. “That’s because it’s about a battle, my fierce feeder of ravens.” Jemma kissed the corner of his lips, and he started the song again, singing softly as she kissed and caressed his chest, arms, and belly. Between her legs, she was soon as wet as the fjord. She hadn’t expected to still crave Fitz’s touch while growing full with child, but she only seemed to want him more, never less.

She pulled the quilts back, happy to find Fitz as ready as she was. There was a hitch in his song as she ran her finger along the underside of his cock. It jerked as she wrapped her hand around it. “Keep singing,” she said, and Fitz nodded. Jemma considered her prize for a moment and bit her lip.

“What are you planning?” he asked.

“I thought I said to keep singing.”

“You’re holding my prick and looking sly. It’s not good for my voice.”

A bead of fluid appeared, and Jemma used her thumb to smear it over the head of his cock. “Fitz, do you remember the first thing I asked you to do with me in this bed?”

“Aye, using my mouth? Would you like that again?” It was an activity they frequently did. Despite her initial fears, Fitz had no issue whatsoever with getting his tongue on her pussy. He’d gotten quite good at it, and her clit throbbed imagining him licking her.

“Not right now.”

His brows drew together.

Jemma slowly stroked his cock. “I’m going to use my mouth on you.”

“What?” he squeaked. “I think I heard you wrong. Did you say…”

“Munn,” she said firmly. _Mouth._ Jemma pumped his cock again. “Her.” _Here._

Fitz looked like a little lost, so she gave up explaining and instead bent over and sucked the deep red head of his cock into her mouth.

The string of mixed Norse and Gaelic curses he let out was rather impressive.

She hadn’t done this with him before because it was something that her lovers had often demanded of her and was obviously only for their pleasure. The one she’d sent away last autumn had asked her frequently for it, then left her wanting after he’d climaxed. It’d become something she hadn’t thought she’d wanted to do, and Jemma had been relieved when Fitz had never asked.

Now, it seemed like a gift she could give.

“Jemma,” Fitz moaned as she worked more of his shaft between her lips and laved him with her tongue. She cupped his balls with her hand, toying with them as she started to bob her head.

Fitz made deep, needy noises. One of his hands rested on her head, and the other gripped the covers. To her surprise, she found herself enjoying pleasing him like this. The scent and taste were intensely Fitz, and besides his hips jerking very slightly and the soft weight of his hand, he wasn’t demanding she do any more than she was. Jemma was in control, and it was stoking her own desire.

“I’m not going to last long,” he said, voice hoarse. “Better stop, and get up here, or I’m going to—” He broke off, panting.

She removed her mouth from his cock and looked up at him. “Come, Fitz.”

“Aye.”

She went back to work, sucking on him as he grew impossibly hard, his sac drew up, and he emptied himself into her mouth. She swallowed it down, savoring the taste of him. There was the faintest sweetness from the dried apples he’d been eating. It was a taste she never wanted to share with anyone else.

Jemma lay down beside Fitz, who was panting like a horse that’d just galloped from Denmark to here. She patted his stomach. “Did you like that?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

“I think you killed me.”

Jemma laughed. “You’ll survive.”

“Probably, a good night’s…wait, Jemma, what about you?”

A grin stretched the corners of her mouth. She’d half expected him to fall asleep, but instead, he was scrambling to kneel beside her. He looked forlornly down at his crotch. “I don’t think it’s waking up for a while.” He glanced at her. “Fingers or tongue?”

He was a treasure. “Fingers, but use this as well.” She reached down between the side of the bed and the linens that were wrapped around the straw that padded them, pushed aside the rags there that she hadn’t need for a while now, along with her dagger, and pulled out the carved stone that she would sometimes use on herself before she had Fitz.

She handed it to him, and he held it up in front of his eyes, then down between his legs.

“I think you’re bigger,” she said, unable to hide her laughter. “Let me see.” She took the stone and wet it in her mouth before giving it back to him. “I certainly could get more of that in my mouth than your manhood.”

Fitz beamed at her, and she managed not to giggle. He might not always act like other men she knew, but he was still amenable to flattery about his cock.

Reassured, he moved between her spread legs and pressed the stone inside her with one hand and used the fingers of the other to circle her clit.

Jemma mewled. She was closer to a climax than she’d thought. Her eyes stayed on him as he worked between her legs while wearing a fierce expression of concentration.

Her lids only closed when her peak came. The pleasure from how he was moving the stone slightly in and out was almost painful. Her legs trembled as her bliss raced through her.

Fitz didn’t stop, and the first climax was followed quickly by a second.

She thought she could probably keep going, but the long day was catching up to her. “I’m good.” Fitz pulled the stone out, licked it clean, and handed back to her. She returned it to its hiding spot and made sure her dagger was in easy reach in case of danger.

Fitz lay down on his side, she blew out the candle and lay down as well. His arm slipped over her as they spooned together.

He stroked her belly. “I’m not going to like being away from you.”

“It’s necessary.” Visions of him lying dead in the yard snuck into her mind, and she had to push them away. “And I won’t like it either.” She yawned. Those visions would haunt her dreams if she wasn’t careful. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we won’t.” His hand tenderly caressed the swell of their child.

Jemma resolutely imagined a strong boy with hair the color of hers, but that curled like his father’s. The child’s eyes would be blue, and he’d grow up hunting and fishing on the farm, learning to read from Fitz, and she’d be the one to teach him to swing a sword.

It was everything she had worked so hard to build.

****

_Three Days Before Yule_

Oh, good, more snow.

It floated down from the sky in puffy white flakes that stuck to his beard and eyelashes.

Fitz grumbled as he stamped his feet before entering the library. He started a fire in the central hearth and used a stick to push the piece of wood aside he used to cover the hole in the ceiling that let the smoke out. He didn’t want snow building up inside overnight. He lit several candles but left the fish oil lamps alone for now. They stank as they burned.

He missed the summer when he’d been able to open the windows without risking turning into a block of ice.

Jarl Campbell and his followers would be arriving within the hour, and Fitz wanted nothing to do with them. He didn’t want to see Jemma fawn over the man, or him trying to woo her. It didn’t matter that Fitz knew Jemma wouldn’t accept Campbells advances. Fitz was certain that he’d lose his mind if he had to watch while another man pursued the woman he loved. The woman carrying his child. Being forced to stay in the back and keep quiet with his head down would be too much. It was better to stay here. He’d brought food and mead and would return late at night to the hall to sleep. He might stay here if he could keep it warm enough.

The chairs and benches had plenty of pillows and blankets now, and Fitz chose a volume from the shelf on the Punic wars, wrapped himself in a tightly woven blanket, pulled the candle close, and started to read.

He would not think about Jemma. Or the way candlelight caught in the twists of her hair when it was braided, or the way her nipples had darkened as her pregnancy progressed, or the soft noise she made when she cuddled against him after they—

Fuck.

****

_Later That Night_

Fitz was bored.

It was the time of night when the commotion in the hall died down, and people dropped off the sleep. Usually, he’d be crawling into bed with Jemma. Either to sleep or make love. It was always a chance to have a little time alone. They had been spending the hours before then together as well. Jemma had been teaching him to play Norse boardgames.

She was delighted to have someone new to play with. Nobody on the farm wanted to play with her regularly because she always won. Fitz had lost at first as well until he’d started to figure them out, and then he been ruthless.

They both won about half the time now, and he was fairly certain that a great deal of betting was happening over their games.

It would have been impossible tonight. Had she played with Campbell? Even worse, would she let him win?

Fitz had given up reading. He’d probably drunk too much mead. There was plenty of fuel for the fire, which he was sitting beside as he fumed. Sleep might not happen at all tonight. How was he ever supposed to rest when his entire life wasn’t in his arms?

The door to the library banged open, and Fitz leaped to his feet. Who would be out here at this time of night?

The figure marched out of the shadows and into the ring of firelight. “Jemma!” he gasped, before realizing she looked extremely unhappy. “Is everything alright?” He was across the room immediately and reaching for her.

She held up a hand, stopping him. “You weren’t in the hall.” Her voice was hard.

“No. I was…here.”

“You haven’t been there. Not when our guests arrived. Not when the evening meal was served. Not during the time after.” The words were angry.

“What?” He wasn’t happy either, but somehow this was his fault. “Do you expect me to be in there? All I would be able to do is stand in the back and watch some rich arse paying court to you. Some tall Jarl with land and position to offer you.” Fitz grabbed his torque and held it above his collar. “I have nothing. I am nothing.” He dropped it and stepped into her space, his hands pressing her dress against her belly, caressing its outline.

Jemma’s lower lip quivered, but then she spun away from him. “You’re not nothing,” she said over her shoulder, all the hardness gone. “You’re mine.”

The door shut quietly behind her. Leaving him standing there.

****

_Yule_

Fitz kept to himself in the library for several more days. Flint came to chat with him, as did Elena. Neither spoke of Jemma, and he wasn’t about to ask.

He stayed busy by carefully drawing out his new design for an improved winnowing fork.

On the third day of no Jemma, which was Yule, the shortest day of the year, there was a polite rap at the door, and a tall man entered. He was very finely dressed, with an ornate gold pin holding his cloak in place.

Fitz knew immediately this was Jarl Campbell.

“Hello,” the man said, not introducing himself. “Lady Jemma has spoken highly of her library.” Fitz noticed that did not include the librarian. “I wanted to see it for myself.”

“Of course. At present, nearly five hundred individual works are kept here. They are arranged by subject. Can I help you find anything?” Like a deep well to fall in.

Campbell put a finger to his lips. “I would guess most are written in Latin. Do you have anything written in runes?”

Fitz managed a nod. Of course the lordling wouldn’t know Latin, the lout. “I think you would be most interested in a collection of stories about the Aesir.” Fitz retrieved the volume and set it in Campbell’s hands before stepping back and crossing his arms. He lowered his eyes.

“This is very nice,” Campbell muttered, flipping through the book. “I even recognize some of these tales.”

Good for him.

The door opened again, and Fitz briefly looked up. It was Jemma wearing a wide smile not meant for him. His eyes returned to the floor.

“There you are!” Jemma said. “I was looking for you. Some of the games are about to start.”

“I wanted to see the library you talked so much about. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place.”

“There are a lot. Now come on, you don’t want to miss the fun, and wait until you see the feast for tonight.”

Campbell laughed. “I doubt it will look half so tempting as you.”

Fitz gritted his teeth and kept his head bowed, even as Jemma gave a tinkling laugh in reply. It was a sound he’d never heard her make before.

“Do you think you’ll win any of the feats of strength?” she asked. “Because I’m sure you will. We better hurry so we don’t miss the start.” She sounded like a parody of herself.

The Jarl dropped the book onto the shelf beside him and left with Jemma.

Once they were gone, Fitz picked up the book and returned it to its place.

She hadn’t spoken a word to him, and all he wanted was to fall at her feet and beg her to simply look on him with favor. But he wouldn’t do it. He’d tried that once, with his da. Hadn’t gone well. Either people wanted you about, or they didn’t, you couldn’t make them care for you.

Jemma liked him near her when she wanted him, and when she didn’t, he wasn’t even worth looking at.

Fitz added wood the fire, preparing for another long night alone.


	7. Socks

The little pink stone glinted in the candlelight. Jemma sat cross-legged on her bed, facing the alcove in the wall with the stone on her palm. It’d been a very strange Yule. Next year would be much better. Just her tight-knit group of friends and family who lived on the farm. Her son or daughter would be old enough to know that it was a time of joy and celebration. They would be happy in the innocent way of children.

Her imagination added Fitz in as well, standing beside her and laughing. Not like she’d seen him today, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast.

She’d wanted so badly to go to him and make it better.

Only she couldn’t. Finding Campbell in the Library had frozen her blood with fear. She’d faced seasoned warriors wielding battle-axes with less terror in her heart. Fitz was her heart now. Her family. She’d done everything she could think of to rush Campbell out of there and to not draw attention to Fitz. Keeping him safe was the most important thing.

Jemma pressed her hands to her ever-growing belly.

She should have freed Fitz before Campbell’s visit. The Jarl was pleasant enough, and Fitz would have simply been another freedman working the farm, instead of her only thrall.

Her hands trembled. It wasn’t that simple. Once the collar was gone, Fitz would have no reason to stay. With his ability to read and write, he could easily earn passage back to his home and whatever life she’d snatched him away from. More led him away from. He hadn’t exactly protested.

Though compliance didn’t signal anything about willingness.

Jemma did not want him to go. The baby kicked against her palm.

She needed to stop worrying. Fitz wouldn’t leave her. Wouldn’t leave them.

The thought still made her fearful. Only she had to do it. Had to give him the choice. It would make him safer. And if it came down to it, Fitz being master of the farm would be preferable to a political marriage to someone she didn’t care for, and who wouldn’t care about the land, her, or the baby she carried.

The baby kicked hard again. It probably missed Fitz as much as she did. It’d sure seemed restless these last few nights. Jemma hadn’t slept well either. The warm center of her life was missing.

The door to her cupboard opened, and Jemma had to put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, even as her heart soared. Never had she been so glad to have someone break her rules. “Fitz,” she said, keeping her head turned away. “You know you’re not supposed to be here. Even if it’s Yule.”

“Who’s Fitz?” asked someone who was very much not Fitz.

Jemma scuttled into the corner of her cupboard, her arms protectively around her middle. “Lincoln?”

Campbell’s mouth dropped open. “Hello,” he said weakly. “I can see I was not expected.”

“Why would you be expected?”

“I was flirting over the meal with you.”

Jemma could remember no such thing. “Your eyes were on Daisy a great deal.”

“I…well…I thought my words to you would indicate…” He swallowed hard and gestured to her belly. “I see you’ve already decided on the future of your farm.”

“Yes. I intend to have my heirs follow after me.”

Campbell rubbed his forehead. “Who fathered your child? You have not taken him as husband. Therefore, it must be someone you cannot wed. Davis, perhaps?”

Jemma worked her hand between the side of the straw-ticked bedding and the cupboard wall. “That is my business and my business alone.”

“You’re protecting him.”

“He is mine, that’s all you need to know.” Her hand closed around the hilt of the hidden dagger, though she didn’t draw it yet.

Campbell dropped his gaze to the bed. “What’s this Fitz got that I haven’t? Why him?”

“I could start with the fact he is much more interested in me than Daisy.”

Campbell hefted a huge sigh. “Daisy is a fascinating person, and I do not mean to disrespect you Lady Jemma, but I enjoy talking to her about ships and sails. I held much the same position as her before I had the Jarldom pushed on me.” He looked up at Jemma. “You’re a lovely woman. Any man would be lucky to have you has his wife.”

“I do not need your flattery. If you want my advice, you should plan to go Viking this summer. Prove your worth. Take what gold you need for your lands.”

“I am not you.” He spread out his fingers. “I have much to learn if I don’t want an Englishman to skewer me like a pig.”

“Agreed, but you have to start somewhere if you want respect. Train. Make a plan. Ally with another Jarl and join his raid.”

“Are you sending anyone out?”

“Next summer, I will have an unweaned babe at my breast. I plan to keep all my fighters here.” The conversation was veering into things she did not want to discuss with Campbell. Her plans for her people and land had nothing to do with him. “And I always voyage with only my people. Nobody to stab me in the back that way.”

Campbell nodded his head. “That wouldn’t be a worry with a Jarl for a husband. You’re still unmarried. Give this babe to a nurse and do not claim it you heir. Next summer raid beside me.” He reached out and put a hand around her ankle. “It’s not a love match, but these things never are. You’re fertile. We need only copulate enough to produce a few children. You can return to this farm and this man of yours after your duties are done.”

Jemma was staring at the hand on her ankle as her skin crawled.

“No,” she said calmly, pulling the dagger from its hiding place. “Remove your hand from my person. You are a good man, Jarl Campbell. Not the kind to accost an unwilling woman in her bed.” He snatched his hand back. “Later, you will apologize to me, but there will never be a marriage between us. I will never give up what I have fought for. And I will never give up the man I love.”

Campbell's eyes were on her knife. “Lady?”

“Leave. Whoever told you sneaking into my bed without explicitly having permission should have their throat slit for their bad advice. I’m guessing it wasn’t the King.”

The bedclothes rustled as Campbell edged towards the door. “No, he said I should woo you and try to show you of the advantages of having a Jarl’s protection, but not to push you. Which I see was good advice.” Campbell put a hand on the door. “It was Wardson that said I should find courage and…convince you.”

Jemma laughed. “He’s no friend of yours or anyone except himself. Don’t you see what he was trying to do?” She gestured with her chin towards the dagger in her hand.

“No?”

“He was trying to get you killed.”

“Oh.”

“Wardson wanted you out of the way. If I do it, there’s a chance the King would deem it unjustified, since I am of a lower social class, and my lands could be taken from me. He was fucking both of us over.” She blew out a breath as Campbell cocked his head. “If I hadn’t been awake, it might have worked. Lucky for both of us I am carrying this child and was wallowing in my own misery over not having its father in this bed with me.”

“Ah.”

“Now go, before I chose a deadly place to sheath this dagger.”

“Yes.” He opened the door and slipped out, and Jemma followed him, still holding her dagger to make her intent clear. After he grabbed his cloak and disappeared out the door, she tossed the dagger onto her bed and dropped her head into her hands.

“I’m glad Fitz didn’t see that,” Elena said from beside her.

Jemma’s head snapped up. “I did not welcome the Jarl.”

“I know, but if Fitz had been here, he would not have stayed long enough to know you chased him out.”

Jemma stared at the woman. The other captive from her raid, who’d never been made a thrall. “Who is Fitz? He won’t tell me. Does he have land back in that town? Was there a woman he was betrothed to? Does he long for her?”

“That baby is making you crazy.”

“Elena.”

“He was a Laird’s bastard son. So no, he was nobody. Sometimes his father threw him a few scraps of attention. That should be enough for you to figure things out.” Elena’s gaze searched Jemma’s face, and then she turned and walked to the spot she occupied. Mack was already lying there, and he lifted his arm to wrap around Elena after she’d snuggled against him.

Jemma headed towards the larder, her hand resting on her belly. She needed something to eat, and some time to think.

****

Sleeping was impossible.

There’d been sounds of merrymaking from the hall for a long time, which had finally died down.

He felt far past just alone. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have gone, grabbed a drinking horn, and joined in. It might even have been fun, for a while. Eventually, he would have caught sight of Jemma and Campbell laughing and talking, and it would have killed him.

Imagining it was not the same as seeing it.

Hopefully, the bloody nitwit would be gone soon, and Fitz could return to Jemma’s side, and bed, where he belonged. Grumbling, he picked up a log and tossed it on the fire, watching the sparks he kicked up dance.

The longest night of the year wasn’t meant to be spent without another living soul. It made him miss his mum. They’d sit together and tell stories deep into the night. He hoped she was somewhere safe, warm, and in good company.

The door to the library opened, and Fitz bolted to his feet, his heart pulsing with joy.

“Jemma!” he said eagerly, wanting to touch her.

The figure that stepped into the circle of firelight was not Jemma. “You’re Fitz, aren’t you?” It was the Jarl.

“Er, yes? Can I help you?”

A wooden chair squeaked in protest as Campbell collapsed into it. His gaze swept over Fitz. “You’re not much.”

“No?” What the hell was he supposed to say? “Is there something you need here?”

Campbell waved a dismissive hand. “I couldn’t figure out who’d put that babe in her belly. Until I remembered she said that the father belonged to her. And you’re the only thrall I’ve seen here.”

Fitz sat down heavily.

“I wasn’t sure,” Campbell continued. “Until you spoke her name like it was your salvation. She said yours as well.”

Fitz looked sharply at Campbell. When would Jemma have said anything about him?

“I believe she expected you in her bed and not me,” Campbell said with a chuckle.

Fitz’s mind whited out like a blizzard had started inside his skull. The Jarl had been in her bed. In Jemma’s bed. His hands trembled, and he leaned over, pressing his palms to the sides of his head.

“I can’t imagine any woman not truly wanting a Jarl instead of a thrall to bed them,” Campbell continued. “Especially not Jemma.” 

Fitz cursed. He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t stand to see the smug Jarl sitting there after Jemma had lain with him. Had she made the same soft noises and happy sighs she did when Fitz pleased her? Had he not been enough for her? Or was it the same as it always in his life? Fitz had simply not measured up because of who he was?

A bastard. A thrall. A nobody.

Who was he to dream of a family and a life with her? He’d amused her until someone with more to offer had come along.

She hadn’t even come to tell him herself that he was being tossed away like rubbish, she’d sent the Jarl to give him the shove off.

****

Jemma paced the narrow confines of the larder. She’d eaten a handful of dry fruit, but while her hunger was satiated, her mind was not.

Going back to her cupboard and lying down along sounded miserable.

There was only one thing she wanted. One person, to be exact. Nothing would be fine until she was nestled against him. Retrieving her cloak and sliding her shoes on, she hastened towards the library. There was snow falling lightly, and the clouds hid the moon. Under her feet, the snow crunched loudly.

She paused at the door to the library. It was slightly open, and she could hear voices. Who the hell would Fitz be speaking to?

The door opened wide enough to let her in without making a noise, and she tiptoed forward.

Fitz was sitting with his head in his hands and Jarl Campbell was speaking with him.

The ground seemed to disappear beneath her feet. Her first instinct was to rush in and strangle the Jarl to protect Fitz, but Campbell didn’t appear to be threatening Fitz.

“What do you want?” Fitz asked Campbell. “To gloat?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Let’s hear it.” Fitz's voice was monotone, and he was staring at the floor. It was so different from how she usually saw him. He was quick to smile and animated. Now, in the firelight, his eyes were so shadowed she couldn’t read them.

Campbell leaned forward. “Give her up. Leave. I’ll cut the link on your torque. Take it the collar. Nobody would question a gold one on a freedman. I’ll give you money. Land even. Passage back to where you came from if you want. All you have to do is leave.”

Fitz massaged his temples. “When? When would I have to leave?”

The baby kicked. The foot found a rib and pushed against it. Jemma’s heart was breaking. Given a hint of a chance, Fitz wanted to flee. She couldn’t stand this. He could have at least spoken to her. She had never backed down from a fight.

“Immediately, if you want,” Campbell said. “I will send men with you. Can you tell me how you won Jemma?”

She strode into the firelight, making both men jump.

“Were you planning to say goodbye?” she snapped at Fitz. “Or leave like a thief in the night?”

He stood. “Jemma! I—”

“Don’t…don’t. I don’t want to hear anything. Not from you.”

His brows were drawn together, and his face pained. “Jemma.”

It felt like her chest was too small for her heart. She hadn’t mattered to him. Not like he’d mattered to her. She’d just been food and a roof over his head, and as soon as there was a better deal, he’d been ready to throw her away.

Tears were threatening, but she didn’t want him to see her cry.

“I--“ she stopped to take a breath. “I thought being…you’re free, Fitz. You’re no longer my thrall. Do what you wish.”

Fitz took a step. He stumbled, then turned and ran into the night.

“Where’s he think he’s going without a coat?” Campbell asked.

Jemma put a hand over her mouth.

****

Fitz hadn’t been thinking. He’d just had to get away from the library.

He wasn’t wanted.

One second the Jarl had been sprouting this ridiculous shite about giving him land and asking how Jemma could be won, as if she was a lock that you simply needed to have a key for, and the next Jemma had been there and yelling at him.

Had Campbell not been getting rid of him fast enough?

At least he’d gotten to see her one last time.

Fitz tripped over a stone and finally stopped walking.

He brushed snow off his arms. It was coming down fast now.

The chill made him shiver, and he stood transfixed as he watched his breath puffing in clouds in front of his face.

He didn’t know where the hall was. It was dark, the snow was thick, and he’d rushed off with no plan.

Fitz spun in a circle, his teeth chattering. It was tempting to lie down and let the snow cover him, but then his child would be born knowing its father had given up. He couldn’t have gone that far, and there were only so many ways he could have gone since he hadn’t walked into the fjord.

Think.

A soft sound rumbled in the night. A familiar sound. A cow was lowing.

Fitz followed the noise, shivering. His fingers numbed. He ran into the side of the barn.

Conjuring the layout of the structure in his mind, he felt his way along the side to the door and let himself in. With all the cattle inside, the barn itself was far, far warmer than outside. He pushed his way through the animals to the ladder to the loft and blindly climbed it. It was even warmer up here. Fitz burrowed into the hay, thankful to be out of the snow and cold, and for his warm wool socks. His feet were already toasty. 

As he stopped shivering, all he could think about was Jemma.

Something was wrong in all of this.

He knew her.

She’d looked more like she had been about to cry than angry.

When it was morning, he’d find her and demand they talk.

He’d explain how he loved her, and that…that he’d rather be her thrall if it meant staying here. He didn’t want the torque gone if it meant he wouldn’t be a part of his child’s life. Or Jemma’s life, for that matter. What did it matter if she never quite saw him as her equal? He was used to it. If she wanted to marry this Campbell, then fine. The Jarl had raids to lead and councils to attend. Somebody would need to warm Jemma’s bed at night.

Fitz knew, lying there in the scratchy hay with the stink of the cattle around him, that it didn’t matter anymore what anyone thought of him, only Jemma and the baby. He could be whoever they needed him to be.

****

Jemma paced the hall. The bright green of the holiday decorations mocked her.

What had she done?

Why had she said anything? The man she loved was going to die because she’d put her desire for control above anything else. She should have freed him months ago, or never placed the torque around his neck at all. She should have married him and been sitting beside him in the hall tonight.

The huge log burning in the fireplace snapped. Yule was when the world shifted. They were in those days which were not part of any time but stood outside it. Fitz could be carried off by more than the cold.

She silently implored the landvaettir to care for him. Jemma believed that she’d done the right thing in bringing him to her farm. That lying with him had been the right thing. He was meant to be here with her on this land. The spirits of it wanted him here, and she should have made it official. She had to believe that the spirits would not let him perish now.

“Jemma,” Daisy said, taking her wrist and leading her to stand before the hearth. “It’ll be fine. Fitz might have been upset, but he’s smart and resourceful. He’ll be alright. As soon as morning comes, we’ll find him.”

“My land will not hurt him.”

“See?” Daisy said, putting an arm around Jemma. “No reason to fret.”

“This is my fault,” Jemma whispered.

“Stop. I don’t even want to hear your reasoning on that one. You two are the worst at being in love.”

“I love him so much.”

“Tomorrow, you’ll tell him that.”

Jemma leaned against Daisy and stared at the Yule log until her eyes were too full of tears for her to see it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is done and ready to go for tomorrow! 
> 
> *hides*
> 
> (under a bridge! now I'm officially a troll!)


	8. Sammen

Fitz woke with a start. Something cold and sharp was pressed against his throat and everything smelled like cow.

Ah, that’s right, he was an idiot and had spent the night in the cow barn.

Popping one eye open, he focused first on a beam of sunlight in which dust motes were dancing. It was streaming in through the roof. That hole needed to be fixed before the hay got any damper.

He opened his other eye. Jemma was standing over top of him, her sword pressed to his throat.

The rest of him abruptly woke all the way up.

It was a bit different from the last time he been in a barn with her. Jemma wasn’t properly dressed. She was in only her underskirt with a cloak hanging from her shoulders instead of a tunic and leather armor. She was also pregnant.

The rest was the same though, and his cock was abundantly happy with the situation.

“If you ever make me think you’re dead again,” Jemma said in a hard voice. “I will kill you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Her hand shook, and then she tossed the sword away as she dropped down on top of him, straddling him and raining kisses on his face. “Don’t leave me,” she said low and urgent. “Don’t leave us. Anything you want I’ll give you. The farm, the gold I have, anything.”

“What?” He pushed her back with a hand on her shoulder. Tears were running down her cheeks. “How many times do I need to tell you I don’t know a thing about running a farm like this? And aye, I wouldn’t mind being your equal, but I’m glad enough to be your thrall. I was upset last night when Campbell said something about being in your bed, but I figured out my jealousy did me no good. I’m yours, no matter what. Even if you’re not mine. Marry the arse if you have to, but let me warm your bed when he’s not about. And let me raise my child.”

There, that was all of it.

Jemma’s tears had ceased. “He said he was in my bed?”

“Er, yeah.”

“I’m going to kill him. Where’s my sword?”

He caught her hips and pressed up against her. “Don’t go.”

“I’m running him through and feeding his innards to fish.” She wiggled in Fitz’s grasp, which only made his poor cock strain harder against his trousers. “Because yes, he was in my bed, but without my permission and on some bad advice and I chased him out with a knife.” She growled, and the sound sent a thrill through Fitz.

And then her words sunk in. She hadn’t lain with someone else. Relief flooded him, and his heart felt like a ship at full sail, flying over the water.

“Jemma,” he said, pushing himself up to kiss her. “Jemma, what do you want of me?”

“Truthfully?”

“This would be a terrible time to lie.” He kissed her nose. “Just tell me.”

She pushed him flat with both her hands on his chest as she ground her core against his cock.

“I want you to marry me.”

****

The sun had barely crested the horizon, not that it would get that much higher before setting again, when Jemma had swirled her cloak about her to search for Fitz.

Daisy, Piper, Mack, and Elena were going to lead search parties, but Jemma had been too upset to wait for anyone else as they ate and dressed.

The snow had lain like a white raiment over the land, leaving no trace of footprints. She’d started at the door of the library and walked in the direction Fitz had gone. When that path had presented her the choice of continuing amid the snow-clad trees of the forest or the cow barn, she’d hoped Fitz had tucked himself into the barn.

The dread in her heart had flown away when she’d found him sleeping in the hay, much like she’d first seen him. Though now his beard was thicker, his hair longer, and he wore the clothes of a Norseman. He was also wider in the shoulders from the work he did on the farm. None of those were changes she’d minded.

Fitz gazed up adoringly at her, and the world felt brighter. The storm inside her abated and left behind a peaceful sea with a following wind.

“Absolutely,” he said, answering her question.

Jemma stroked his face. “Even if I asked you to sign a marriage agreement?”

“I don’t know what that is.” He palmed her breast, and she moaned.

“It’s a document with a copy filed with the King, like any legal agreement. I would retain full ownership of the farm.” It was still risky for her. Things happened to written agreements, especially when it went against usual procedure, but it was the best she could do. The land would nominally still be hers. A knot loosened in her chest. Before, it’d felt like too much of a leap to take, but if Fitz would agree, then it would be enough.

He tugged aside the top of her dress to free her tit. “Is that all?” He spread the fingers of his other hand over her belly. “Our children will still inherit?”

“Of course. And I meant what I said last night. The link will be removed. You are a free man, Fitz.”

He grinned. “Then agreed, and I care more about being your betrothed anything else. I said yes to the marriage.”

Jemma bit her lip, then bent down to kiss him, but it was nearly impossible with her growing belly between them.

Fitz laughed. He wiggled to the side. “Lay your cloak down, and then you rest on top of it.”

Jemma pulled the heavy cloth from her shoulders, and he helped her smooth it out on the hay. She lay on her back, and Fitz returned to kissing her and playing with her breasts. She felt quite pleased with herself as she undid the front of his trousers and worked her hand inside to grasp his cock. She’d solved the problem of marrying him and was lying with him.

Fitz moaned and pressed into her palm as he shifted to suck her nipple between his lips. Her hips jerked, and the ache between her legs grew.

“Please, no more waiting,” she mumbled against his lips. “I’ve missed you so much…and I’m really wet.”

His cock jerked in her grip. “Yeah, let’s…here.”

She had to let go so they could rearrange themselves on her cloak. She ended up on her side with Fitz behind her. He pushed down his trousers and pulled her shirt up. Jemma groped behind her and found his cock, stroking it a few times before aiming it towards her channel.

Fitz’s lips were soft on her neck as he shifted and thrust inside her. He didn’t move immediately, which she deeply appreciated. The feeling of him stretching her channel, and of him being exactly where he should be, both filled her joy.

She twisted her shoulders and neck towards him, and he softly kissed her mouth.

“Fitz,” she whispered.

His hand swept down her body to cradle her belly. “Aye?”

“I love you. Always stay with me. Please.”

“The Wild Hunt itself couldn’t bar me from you.” He curled tight around her. “I love you too, Jemma. I love you too.”

He thrust his hips, and his cock surged inside her.

The entire world felt new. This was how things were always meant to be.

His movements in and out of her were rough, but he was carefully holding her belly as if to keep the babe in it safe. Her heart ached for this man, who she’d quite accidently stumbled on and who’d changed her entire life by simply being his wonderful self.

He challenged her mind and made her body sing.

Fitz grunted behind her. “You feel so good, Jemma, I love you so much…I can’t…” He came with a low moan, his release emptying into her as his arm moved up under her breasts and pulled her tight against him.

She relished how desired she felt.

After a few seconds of panting, Jemma yelped as she found herself on her back with Fitz gazing down at her. “Your turn now.”

A grin tugged the corners of her mouth upward. “Is it?”

His summer-sky eyes twinkled as he scooted down her body. The first lash of his tongue over her clit had her hips rising off the cloak. The second was accompanied by Fitz sliding two fingers into her pussy, which made her moan loud enough that one of the cows lowed in return.

There was a chuckle from the direction of her nether parts, and she could see Fitz’s head tilt up, but then he had to push up a little to meet her eyes over the top of her belly.

“If you say anything right now,” she warned. “I will…glare.”

“How will I survive?” His fingers moved languidly in and out of her.

“I’m about to practice glaring right now.”

He gave her a crooked grin that made her middle feel like mush and dropped back down. The licks and taps were perfect, as was how he was using his fingers. Her back arched and her hands gripped the cloak.

“Fitz,” she whispered, then came. Bliss echoed through her.

It went on forever and then was suddenly over, and she was aware of Fitz using a hand to push her thigh away from his head so he could return to lapping her.

The second orgasm was bright and sharp, and the following two warm and sweet.

She managed to grab Fitz’s hair at that point and directed him back up her body.

He was grinning and looked very pleased with himself.

“Thank you,” she said, cupping his cheek. “For everything.”

Her stomach growled.

“I guess we better head back and get you fed before one of these cows begins to look like breakfast.” Fitz jerked a thumb at the herd crowded into the barn as he stood and straightened his clothes. He helped her to her feet and retrieved her cloak to put about her shoulders. She grabbed her sword from where it’d landed.

“We should open the barn door as well,” she said as Fitz. “Since we’re here, and save the person whose job it is to do that the work.”

Once the doors were wide open and the cows moving out to their snow-covered pasture, Fitz took her arm as they headed towards the hall. Smoke drifted up from the hole in the roof, and the sky didn’t have a single cloud in it.

He eyed her sword as they walked. “Why did you bring a sword? Was it for me?”

“For you? Why would it be for you?”

“You did poke me with it.”

“I needed to wake you up, and it was easier than bending over.”

“Fair enough.”

She laughed and leaned against him. “No, I brought it because I was worried some elf or sprite might try to claim you and I would need to fight them.”

“Me? What would some elf do with me?”

“You’re a handsome man, Fitz. They could try and steal you away and then I’d never find you.” Oh, drat, she was going to cry. It was too cold to cry.

“Nay, none of that.” They were nearly to the hall, but he turned and kissed her. She molded herself to him as best she could. The baby woke and kicked, hard enough that Fitz must have felt it too because he broke the kiss and looked down.

“He missed you too,” she said.

“Sorry,” Fitz murmured to her belly as he flattened a hand against it. His hand trembled slightly, and she realized Fitz was shivering, not simply overcome with emotion. Grabbing his arm, she directed him to the hall and threw the carved front doors open.

Inside was bustling with people finishing their meal or preparing to go a look for Fitz. They all stopped and turned to stare at her and Fitz.

“Smith!” she called, and the big man waved from by the hearth fires. “I found Fitz. All is well.”

She strode towards the hearth, her hand still on Fitz, and everyone moved out of the way except Daisy.

“I’m glad you’re fine,” Daisy said to Fitz. “Don’t do that again.” He nodded, and Daisy turned to Jemma. With a smile, Daisy reached up and plucked a stalk of hay out of Jemma’s hair. “Could you two at least try to look like you weren’t fornicating in a barn.”

Fitz’s ears pinked.

“Daisy,” Jemma said, attempting to sound stern.

“You did!” Daisy squealed. “Yes! Piper owes me a bottle of wine.” She waved at Piper. “And good job, Fitz.” She lightly punched his shoulder. “Is everything settled between you two now?”

“Yes.” The conviction in Fitz’s voice made Jemma want to toss him down and have her way with him again.

“Yes,” Jemma agreed. She pulled Fitz closer to the hearth fires. “Everyone!” she called, and the motion and chatter in the hall ceased. “Fitz is a freedman. I know here he was never truly treated as a thrall, and I want to thank you all for helping him make a home here. But now he has full rights among all the Norsemen.” She took his hand, which was much warmer now, and held it tight. “And on the first day of the new year, we will marry.”

The hall erupted into cheers, but all she could see was Fitz as he cupped her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

****

Fitz’s mind was darting in forty different directions.

Most of it was full of the idea of Jemma being a bride. His bride. And the babe that would arrive before summer.

Part of him was aware of the cheering and wishes of good luck. And a tiny corner of his mind was working on a way to improve the ladder in the cow barn because it was not well-fashioned.

“Let’s get that off you lad,” the Smith said, grabbing Fitz’s shirt and hauling him around. He pushed Fitz’s chin up with one meaty hand and handed a pair of nippers to Jemma with the other. Taking the metal link that fastened the two sides of the torque together, he held up an iron hot from the fire to it, and after a moment indicated Jemma should cut.

There was a snap, and the link was pulled free.

Fitz immediately twisted the gold collar and removed it. It looked much smaller than he remembered, and his neck felt bare.

The Smith patted his back with a laugh and moved away.

Jemma reached for the torque, but he held it away from her fingers. “I’m still deciding,” he said.

“About what?”

“If I want to keep it. It’s just a decoration now. And I’m still not sure why you put a gold torque around my neck anyway. Hardly the sort of thing you hand a captive.”

Jemma’s smile looked a little wry. “I should never have done it at all. I…it endlessly feels like that which I value most is going to be taken away from me if I don’t hang onto it as tight as I can. If I don’t fight.”

“And you’ll fight for me?” he said softly.

“Always.” Jemma ran a finger over his hand he was holding the torque with. “And in any way necessary.”

“Never had that before.” It’d been more the opposite. Being shoved out the door any time his Da had been about. Aida had shown him the door too, and probably any other lass he’d have tried to woo would have to. It’d been why he’d run last night, he realized. He’d left before someone could make him.

He settled the torque back around his neck, its presence immediately calming. He’d felt a little naked without it. Jemma raised a brow.

“It means I’m wanted,” he said. “I haven’t had that much before, either.” He put his hands on Jemma’s belly, feeling the little life within moving. A life that was very much wanted, even if it’d started off unexpected. “It’s also the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn. I can show it off now.”

Jemma took his hand. “I have one that matches, I think. Let me fetch it while you get us breakfast.”

The noise of the hall had returned to normal. Fitz took the two bowls full of porridge and buttermilk from the cook and carried it to the table Jemma ate at. After a second’s hesitation, he set both bowls down and sat down himself. No reason to head for the back of the hall.

His stomach growled as he picked up a spoon to start eating.

The hot food was delicious after a few days of jerky and dried apples. There was even honey. As Fitz stuck a very large spoonful into his mouth, Jarl Campbell sat down across the table from him. Fitz was sure he’d have something scathing to say if he wasn’t trying to chew a mouthful of oats and sticky honey.

Campbell opened his mouth but was cut off as Jemma sat beside Fitz. “Good morning,” she said cheerily. There was a gold torque around her neck with the same dragon heads at the ends as his. He liked seeing it there more than he could say. Jemma also dug into her breakfast with gusto.

“Uh, good morning.” Campbell became intent on studying the table.

After a few moments of silence, Jemma sighed. “If you have something to say to Fitz, then say it. He’ll just repeat whatever it is to me anyway.”

“She’s right,” Fitz added.

Campbell’s mouth worked for a moment before he spoke. “I wanted to warn him that most of Norse society isn’t like this.”

“Like what?” Fitz asked, darting a glance as Jemma.

“The Lady lets a lot of things slide here. She doesn’t keep thralls.” Campbells shook his head when Fitz started to protest. “You were never really one. You didn’t go hungry and dirty without enough clothing to keep you warm. You didn’t scurry about hoping nobody noticed you as you were forced to do worst tasks for endless hours. You’re were never less than a person here. And it’s not just you. Daisy and Piper should be wed and bearing children, even if they are more inclined to each other’s company.”

“I wouldn’t say that to Daisy,” Jemma said. Campbell winced, and she snorted. “At least she didn’t bruise your face.”

Campbell’s expression turned sheepish. Good on Daisy. “Look, I’m just saying that this place is different, it’s not the outside world. Don’t expect people to cheer for a foreign captive wed to a Karl anywhere but here. And I do have to inform the King of your choice, Lady. You’ve amassed enough wealth and power that it cannot go unnoticed.”

Fitz turned towards Jemma because he didn’t know what Campbell was saying, entirely, but he’d be fine never leaving his new home again.

Jemma set her spoon down loudly on the table and squared her shoulders. “You tell Coulson what you must, I give him his fair share every year and he cannot complain. I will have documents for you to carry to him detailing the tenets of this marriage.” Her voice became firmer. “That I am good at stewarding my land and people is my own achievement, not because of where this farm is. Look at the records from my father’s time if you want the truth.” She had her overskirt on, but when she put a hand on her belly, the pregnancy was immediately visible. “I have no desire other than to keep on as I have and bequeath my children a working and profitable farm.”

Fitz’s jaw clenched. He’d be across the table and at Campbell’s throat if the lout said one unkind thing to Jemma.

Campbell nodded. “I will tell him such.” He leaned heavily on the table. “There’s still eleven days of Yuletide left.”

Jemma shrugged and returned to eating.

“Well,” Fitz said slowly. “Why don’t you ask Jemma why her farm works so well? I’m sure she’d be glad to tell you some of what she’s learned. Just don’t make an arse of yourself about how you do it. You’re a decent sort, I think, if you stop listening to others. Try showing that side of you. As for Daisy, being friends with a woman is possible, you know.”

Campbell dropped his head into his hands. “Stop being right.”

“Fitz is very good at that,” Jemma said, and he was sure his heart was going to burst.

“I’m learning.” Campbell raised his head just enough to see over his fingers. “I’m sorry, Lady, I didn’t mean to make your Yule this…exciting. And I would appreciate you talking to me tonight over a board game or two about what you do that makes your farm profitable.”

Jemma smiled. “That would be very agreeable.”

“See, he can learn,” Fitz said to Jemma. He turned to face Campbell. “Though you’re going to lose any game you play against her.”

“Are we betting?” Davis said from down the table.

“Aye,” Fitz replied. “We’re betting.”

Davis pursed his lips. “But who are we betting against? Because we all agree Jemma is going to win.” A cheer went up from the table.

Campbell laughed. “I am going to lose, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Fitz scraped the bottom of his bowl. He was full, but it tasted so good he wanted to get every morsel out.

Jemma touched his arm. “I thought you were going to murder him for a moment,” she said in a soft voice.

“I did too.”

“You should start training with Mack and learn a few things about how to defend yourself.”

Fitz knew he was making a face. “I’m not good at that sort of thing.” He’d also been discouraged from ever doing it, most likely because his da didn’t want Fitz taking up arms against him.

“That’s why you train.” She took his hand and pressed it to her middle. “And after this little one is here we can train together.”

“Jemma, I’m not going to last two seconds against you.”

“As I said, that’s why you train.”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “It’s not your sword that’ll best me, but my cock-stand.”

Jemma blushed, laughed, and then wiggled in her seat on the bench.

Fitz felt more powerful than any king.


	9. Faclan

Sweat trickled down Fitz’s back. Mostly because he was stuffed in the sauna with Mack, Davis, and Campbell, and a little because he was nervous about marrying the love of his life before the setting of the sun.

He’d avoided the sauna since coming to the farm, but apparently, as the groom, he was required to be miserable in order to scrub away his bachelor status. Or that was his best understanding of the matter. Weddings in winter were odd, and the frozen landscape precluded most of the usual rituals, for which Fitz was thankful. He didn’t think digging up a sword was going to make him a better husband, though Mack had given Fitz one because he had to exchange it with Jemma after they were both sprinkled with blessed blood.

He rather wished he could just run into the woods with her and bind their hands together, and from the withering looks Jemma had been giving people during the preparations for the wedding, she might even agree. However, having a big wedding and celebration helped legitimize the union, and he was entirely for that. The contracts had been written and signed, and the ceremony was all that was left to bind him and Jemma into one.

Oh, balls, he was going to cry in the sauna.

“Fitz,” Davis said from where he was leaning against one wooden wall.

Fitz shifted on the hard bench and tried to make Davis out through the billowing pine-scented steam. “Yes?”

“This is when we’re all supposed to tell you about your husbandly duties so you’re prepared for the night ahead.”

Mack barked with laughter and Campbell joined him.

“I’m good,” Fitz said quickly. “I figured it out.” He did not need a lecture on bedding Jemma. Didn’t the entire hall know they got along well in that regard by now?

“Did you really get her pregnant in a barn during a raid?” Campbell asked. Fitz groaned. “I can’t quite figure out how that happened. Your town was being attacked, burning, screams, and you went…yes, please?”

Fitz dropped his face into his hands. “It wasn’t quite like that.”

“It was like that,” Davis said. “I’m not entirely sure I want to know exactly what he did to make the Lady decide to bring him home with us, but it must be some magic because she’s been eager for his cock ever since.”

Fitz crossed his legs.

Mack chuckled. “I think I know what happened. You’ve all seen it. Whenever Jemma barks out orders, Fitz perks right up. Raid or not, she directed her force of will at him, and all of him perked up.”

The men all laughed, and Fitz sighed.

“Well?” Campbell’s knee bumped Fitz’s.

“I cannot argue the factual truth of that statement.”

More laughter.

“It’s sweet,” Davis said, and Fitz looked in his direction again. “We’re all different, and we can find the person that complements us. Jemma likes to give orders, Fitz likes to take them. Mack, I know Elena tells you like it is, and you appreciate that. You’ll find someone Campbell. Try not to marry for land.”

“It’s a good way to get killed,” he replied. “And Fitz, since we can hardly give you advice on pleasing the Lady in bed, what’s your advice?”

“Be quiet,” Fitz said, trying to keep a straight face. The others all laughed. “Actually,” he continued when the laughter died down. “My advice is simple. Make sure you know what the woman you’re with wants. Then do it.”

The three men nodded sagely.

“I don’t think many men are going to ever ask,” Campbell said.

Davis rapped his knuckles on the bench. “This is why Fitz is marrying Jemma today. Even when they could barely say two words to each other, he still figured out exactly what she wanted.”

Fitz grinned. Jemma had always been very clear in her desires. His eyes darted around the small space. “Well, listen to your woman, and lick her cunt a lot. That helps.”

The three men broke out into another round of laughter, and Fitz joined them.

He was going to get to lick Jemma’s cunt for the rest of his life. He sat up a little straighter as Mack patted his shoulder. That’s what this was about. A sword, some blood, a few words, and he’d be fully sanctioned under the law for all the Jemma-licking possible.

Marriage was going to be wonderful.

****

Jemma had taken one step into the sauna and walked right back out into the cold air. She would faint in two seconds in that heat, and, honestly, she didn’t need her virginity sweated out of her. It had obviously been gone a good long while. Jemma sat on a bench in the bathhouse and blew out a breath.

Elena, a thick cloth wrapped around her middle, came to join Jemma. The bathhouse was still warm, but not stifling.

“I’m sorry your mother isn’t here to see you,” Elena said.

“I would have been married a lot sooner if she was.”

Elena laughed. “Maybe, you’re stubborn.”

“I have to be.”

Elena nodded.

“Does Fitz have any family he might be wishing were here?” Jemma asked.

“His mother. I was her friend. She lost both of us that night, and now won’t know if we’re alive or dead, or that she’s going to be a grandmother.”

“She must be stubborn too, to have lived with the shame no doubt heaped upon her.” Jemma found herself wishing she’d had a chance to gut Fitz’s father.

“His mother fought for her son, even if the Laird never recognized him officially. Fitz ate enough and had tutors, and if the fool acted like he didn’t remember her or her son, she’d show up with the boy and shame him into loosening his purse strings. And she loved him the best she could. I think Fitz is better off not having grown up in his father’s house.”

“Do you think she’d like to come here? If I send you and Mack under a white flag in the spring?” The baby kicked hard, and Jemma tried to soothe it. She couldn’t imagine how Fitz’s mother had to feel, not knowing if the child she’d carried and fought for was alive.

“Perhaps, I would like to tell her at least that Fitz is well, married, and a father.”

“We will plan that once the snows melt, but don’t speak of it to Fitz, it will be a surprise.”

Elena grinned. “Now this I like.”

Jemma stood, her belly leading the way, and stretched her back. “I should dress.”

“It’s a pity there are no flowers for a crown. Mostly because I’ve had to hear Piper and Daisy complaining about it for days.”

“They’d complain if there were flowers, and ribbons are fine.” They were the traditional green and red, and would flow over her dark hair which would be let down to its full length. Excitement coiled deep inside her.

She was getting married.

It hadn’t seemed possible this time last year. Now she was round with child and deeply in love with the man about to become her husband.

“You’re smiling,” Elena said.

“This is so much more than I could have imagined last winter. A husband worthy of the name and a child to soon hold in my arms.”

****

The wedding ceremony had gone on forever, and then a little longer. And the feast had dragged on for millennia.

All Jemma wanted was to have a little time alone with her new husband. Finally, a crowd of people saw them to what was now their sleeping cupboard, officially, and not just hers. 

The fresh straw ticking crunched under Jemma’s knees as she removed her outer dress, and then her inner. The crown of gold and ribbons joined them at the end of the bed.

Fitz was still kneeling near the door, his eyes heavy as he watched her disrobe.

“It was a good day, husband. I’m sorry we can’t have a proper week of celebration, but our winter larders won’t allow it.” She felt desired, not just from the way her husband’s cock was tenting his trousers, but from the hungry expression on his face.

He palmed his cock through his trousers. “Don’t really care about the larders.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I care about my wife.”

The words dripped over her like warm honey, and her breasts grew heavy. She cupped one and dragged a finger over the nipple. Fitz swallowed hard. “What does my husband want tonight?”

Emotions flicked over his face, too fast for her to follow. He squeezed his eyes closed and launched himself at her, ending up beside her with his arm holding tight around her. It slid down until he was palming her belly and including their unborn child in the hug. The warmth and love in her chest burned hot enough it was a wonder the bedding didn’t catch fire, especially because her lust was just as bright.

She wiggled against the hard line of his cock, and he groaned and hitched his hips.

Turning her head, she claimed his mouth. He clutched her close. Her husband.

Every lonely moment of her life, and every time she’d refused to be married to who she ought to be, all those times she fought against what was expected of her, took on new meaning. She’d been waiting for now, for him.

It’d been a blessing that those monks had built a monastery so ripe for plucking right where they had.

She broke the kiss. “Fitz, what would you have done if I hadn’t found you in the barn and brought you here?”

He blinked at her. “I don’t think I’m kissing you right.”

“It’s very right, and I was thinking about how glad I am to have found you, but you never speak of what might have happened if I hadn’t.”

“What about you? If you hadn’t found me that day?”

“Marry Campbell?” She traced her fingers over his lips, swollen from her kisses, as he grimaced. “And don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t know what I would have done. The same as always, I suppose. Sell lures, fish. Maybe I would have tried to court one of the local fishermen’s daughters this spring.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, because we found each other.”

Her heart flopped like an out of water fish thinking of her Fitz courting anybody else, though she tried to force herself to relax. They’d just been through quite a lot of ceremony that bound them together.

It didn’t help, but Jemma knew what would.

“Naked,” she snapped. “I want you in me now.”

Fitz’s eyes widened, and he wiggled out of his tunic and trousers almost instantly. Wool socks, these dyed an ocean blue, still encased his feet as he knelt between her legs. Jemma adored that he hated being cold.

“Wait,” she said. He made a distressed noise and looked down at his eager cock. “I want to touch you.”

His hands fell to his sides as she got her knees back under her. She started with his soft hair, trailing her fingers through it, and then down over the beard he was working on. Fitz leaned into her touch like a cat, and his eyes closed.

Jemma drew her hands down his neck, over his shoulders and arms, and across his chest. The hair there was springy, and she teased his flat nipples with her nails. He moaned softly and swayed towards her. He smelled of the lavender in the soap he’d used to wash away the blood from the marriage ceremony, and she mouthed his neck lightly, inhaling deeply, as she traced her hands down his sides to his narrow hips.

Shuffling around behind him, she dragged her palms up his thighs and over his belly. His cock jerked, but she studiously ignored it, instead sliding her fingers from his shoulder, down his back to, just above his rear.

“Jemma,” he rumbled.

She grabbed his arse with both hands and squeezed.

He groaned. “I don’t suppose there’s something else you want to get your hands on?” He sounded so hopeful it made her laugh, and how could she deny him what he asked for?

Jemma ghosted her fingers around his hips and snuggled against his back. Her tongue flicked over the skin of his nape, tasting the barest hint of salt, as she wrapped her hands around his cock. It was rigid and pulsed faintly in her grasp.

She moved her hands up and down. “Is this what you meant?”

He groaned and thrust against her palms.

Continuing to stroke him with one hand, she dropped the other down to cup his sac. He thrust into her fist with a soft moan.

“I’m going to love you forever,” she said against his clean-smelling shoulder. “It was a lot of traditional words today, but they all meant the same to me, that I will love you, and love you, and love you.”

“I want to fuck you,” he growled, the sound rumbling through him. “Uh, and me too,” he said in a more normal voice. “Love you, that is. I think I’ve always loved you, even before I met you, and now that I have, you and our children take up all the available room.”

She let go of him. “Lie down on you back.” Jemma gave him a little shove of encouragement. Fitz sprawled, then hastily rolled over and held out his hands to her.

Done with waiting, Jemma straddled his waist, grabbed his cock, positioned the head at her entrance, and sank onto him. Her hands grabbed his, and she intertwined their fingers as she rode him.

Her body was incredibly sensitive from the pregnancy, and her body tightened towards climax quickly. She leaned forward, putting more of her weight on Fitz’s hands, and ground against him.

His eyes were fixed on her tits, and he was making pleased noises as she worked herself on him.

“I like this,” she said. “I like you under me and being in control of how fast things are happening.”

His unfocused gaze briefly rose to her face. “My favorite too…boobs.” His gaze dropped again, and Jemma loved him all the more. She had no idea where his brilliant mind went when they made love, but he focused so entirely on her and simply enjoyed being with her so much that it hardly mattered.

Her muscles trembled.

“I love you,” Jemma whispered as her climax unfurled. The pleasure thrummed deeply inside her, filling her and lifting her heart to shine like the stars in the sky.

She let go of Fitz’s hands and pitched forward, panting, catching herself with her palms against the bedding on either side of his head.

He was still moving, still thrusting, their middles were pushed together, but not uncomfortably so. He craned his neck up and kissed her fervently while one of his hands tangled in her long hair, and the other cradled her breast.

After a nip of her lower lip, his head dropped back on the mattress. Wide, summer-sky blue eyes gazed up at her.

“Mo bhean,” he said, his face becoming almost pained. “Mo bhean bhòidheach.” He spoke in Gaelic, and she wished she’d learned the language. She’d been more worried about Fitz speaking Norse to fit into his new home.

Fitz’s hand rose from her breast to her cheek, cupping it.

“Tha gaol agam ort. Mo chridhe. Bidh mi leatsa gu bràth. Còmhla tha sinn nas làidire.” His thumb brushed her face.

He continued, and while she didn’t know the words, she understood his intent. They were the words you said in your first language when you loved someone because they sounded more real.

Fitz looked close to tears, and she rained kisses on his face, telling him over and over again that she loved him. That her life was better because of him. That all she wanted in the world was hearth, family, and him.

He groaned loudly as he came, thrusting deep into her body while he still tenderly stroked her face and hair.

When his cock stopped pulsing, she moved to blow the candles in the alcove out. The light twinkling on the pink stone caught her attention. She saw her reflection, her lips curved in a wide smile, for a moment before she plunged the cupboard into darkness. Lying down, facing Fitz, she snuggled tight against his chest.

He draped an arm over her, and his wool sock-clad feet hugged one of hers. Together with him she always felt so warm, safe, and loved.

“Goodnight, my wife,” he murmured into her hair.

Jemma discovered her heart had still not returned to the ground. It might soar forever now. “Goodnight, my husband.”

****

_A Few Months Later, Early Spring_

Fitz couldn’t stop pacing as he mentally reviewed what the farm needed as it finally shook off winter. Even worse, he knew he was distracting himself from worrying about Jemma. She was at the end of her pregnancy, and he’d had no idea how difficult it would be for her. Even breathing could become an uneasy task.

It terrified him, no matter how much everyone assured him it was normal.

Also normal, he was told, were her mood swings. She’d be snapping at him one moment and then begging him to make love to her the next. It was complicated, but he never turned down tupping her against the nearest wall, over a table, or on the floor. Lately, she’d been voracious at night when they lay down, and one of the cooks had told him that’s how he’d gotten her with child, and that it was also a good way to get it out. They were just doing what the Goddess Freya wished them to.

Fitz had retrieved every book from the library shelves he could find on childbirth, piled them up, and then not had the courage to read them. Flint had taken over that task, and he was sitting in a chair reading while Fitz paced back and forth in the library.

“Go to her,” Flint said, obviously well aware of Fitz’s distress.

“No, no, no, can’t, she said she had some things to do this morning.” Fitz was certain Jemma would be unhappy if he showed up. She’d think he was checking on her, and, well, he would be, but not because he thought she wasn’t capable. “Best not to.”

Flint sighed loudly. “Then find something to do, or I’m going to start reading this section out loud. This is one of the few volumes written by a woman, and it’s detailing birth canal positions of the child.”

Fitz held up his hands and tried desperately not to think about Jemma’s birth canal. “I’m gone. It’s okay. Thank you for researching.” He ran. Outside was a problem because of the mud, which he didn’t want to get on his socks because it might be spring, but this land barely seemed to remember that. At least the snow was mostly gone. Everything smelled like damp earth.

Skittering across the wooden board walkways, he headed for where Mack would be teaching lessons. Fitz thought the activity would be good for him, and he needed the practice. He’d learned a few basics, and a great deal on how to get out of a fight you didn’t want to be in. Which perhaps should have offended him, but mostly he was very grateful. Running away was far from the worst option for him, though he’d like to add some skills in defense, in case he ever needed to defend his family. He could imagine times when Jemma might not be able to fight, and he didn’t want to be helpless.

In the ring, Mack was instructing with several of the younger children, but he looked up as Fitz approached.

“Care if I join it? Fitz asked.

Mack grinned. “Actually, your timing is perfect. We’re working on disarming someone with a knife today, and you can be my example, and then show everyone that it can work on an attacker much bigger than them.”

Fitz shrugged. It was better than pacing the library.

Several hours later, he was a sweaty mess with bruised knuckles but he could disarm Mack and dodge a few of the more common moves made with a knife.

The kids had all been delighted when Fitz had sent Mack’s knife flying for the first time, and Fitz knew he’d managed to accomplish something.

Mack was in the middle of clapping him on the back when he stopped mid-pat. “Daisy’s running this way,” he said.

Fitz fumbled the practice knife in his hand, and it hit the ground with a dull thud.

Daisy, out of breath, vaulted the fence around the practice circle. “Fitz!” she hollered.

Fitz grabbed both her arms. “Is it Jemma?”

“Yes…no.”

“What?”

“Jemma’s in labor and asking for you, but we have a bigger problem.” Daisy brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Baby.

The baby was on the way. His knees shook, but Mack grabbed the back of his tunic and kept him upright.

“What’s the bigger problem?” Mack asked.

“One of our guards came galloping in full tilt. King Coulson is making for the hall.”

Fitz briefly wished he could pass out. This was too much, but Daisy, and now Mack, were looking at him. Jemma was lying in childbed.

“I’m going to see Jemma first.” Fitz straightened up. “Daisy, have the hall prepared for guests and a cow slaughtered.” She nodded, and Fitz turned to gaze up at Mack. “Can you make sure that our people are armed? Discretely? I don’t know what a king’s visit could mean, but if he’s here to take the farm…”

“He will find it no ripe fruit to fall into his hands.” Mack turned, his face grim, and headed for the armory.

Daisy’s face was pained. “Jemma’s in the shed appointed for her lying in, and the midwife is with her.”

Fitz set his jaw. 

“She’s going to be fine,” Daisy said.

“She is,” Fitz agreed, hoping that their home would still be theirs by the time the child arrived.


	10. Kjærlighet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Childbirth

The stone wall of the shed was cool against Jemma’s cheek. She had her crossed arms braced against it and was resting her head as the birthing pains tightened and let go.

She’d probably been in labor most of the day, believing it only to be more false labor until she’d become unable to talk through the pains and her waters had gushed down her legs.

The baby was on its way.

She wanted her husband. To hold her through the pains and to wring his neck for having spent himself inside her in the first place. She should have run her sword through him, not impaled herself on his cock. But then her life would be completely different, and she wouldn’t have such a wonderful husband who was going to make such a great father—

Tears dripped down her cheeks.

The midwife, an older woman who’d delivered Jemma, clucked her tongue. “You’re doing fine.”

“I want Fitz,” Jemma hiccupped around a sob.

“I sent for him. That boy will be here any second.”

The door latch rattled, and the midwife looked smug as the door flew open and Fitz barreled into the room. He pressed himself against her back, his arms loosely going around her belly. “Jemma,” he whispered, and she turned her head to look at him. The concern and love on his face made her cry harder. “What’s wrong?” he asked, hauling her around and cradling her against him.

“I love you,” she wept, but couldn’t get anything else out before another pain hit her and she had to cling to Fitz to stay on her feet.

“It shouldn’t be that much longer,” the midwife said cheerily. Jemma wanted to wring her neck too.

When the pain eased, Jemma gulped in deep breaths and cupped Fitz’s face in her hands. He looked worried, but about something besides only her. “What is it?” she asked.

His brows shot up. “Nothing for you to be concerned with right now.”

“Tell me.” If he refused because she was undergoing a normal process that a lot of women everywhere experienced, she was going to stab him.

That was a lie.

She’d just think about it very hard.

“Well,” he said, and sighed. “The King is riding into the farmstead as we speak, and I have no idea why he’s here, but Mack is arming people just in case.”

Panic, deep and cold, swept through her. “Go greet him,” she said, pushing at Fitz’s chest. “Make sure Daisy and Davis are with you.” Another pain started. “Then come back to me.”

Fitz kissed her softly and helped her brace against the wall again before hurrying off.

Flint stood in the doorway after Fitz left, clutching several books. “I can help,” he said, and Jemma waved him in.

“I have no doubt,” she said. “But listen to the midwife, she’s helped many children into the world.”

Flint nodded, and the midwife pulled him into a corner where they spoke rapidly to each other.

Jemma breathed through several more pains.

“You should walk,” the midwife declared. “Flint, escort her to make rounds about the shed.”

Flint took her arm, and Jemma ungracefully waddled next to him as they made their way outside. She had to halt with the contractions but did alright going around and around between them. Flint felt her belly during the pains several times with an intense look of concentration on his face.

After what felt like several hours of walking, though the sun hadn’t moved far enough across the sky for it to have been that long, Jemma began to worry that Fitz hadn’t returned. There also weren’t the sounds of fighting. The most likely thing Coulson would be there for was gold to finance some military undertaking. Perhaps even looking for troops, which was a request she’d deny. She needed everyone for the harvest that would take place on the other side of summer. Gold she would more readily part with.

Jemma halted through another pain, and Flint carefully set his hand on her belly. He didn’t remove it as the pain released. His brows drew together at what he felt. His fingers dug in uncomfortably for a second before his hands dropped to his sides. “We should go back inside,” he said softly.

The fear over what was happening in her hall fled and was replaced by a terror of what was happening in her body. “Flint?”

“Inside, I need to speak to the midwife. I’m new at this and might be wrong.”

“My child?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

Jemma moved woodenly towards the door of the shed. She knew it was a battle she was fighting, one that women and the children they carried sometimes lost. “I can’t die,” she said matter-of-factly to Flint. “Fitz wouldn’t know what to do.”

Flint tried to smile. “You’re not going to die.”

“I beg to differ.” A large hand landed on the door latch. Jemma muffled a scream. She’d been so distracted that she hadn’t been aware that anyone had approached them.

She muffled another scream as a pain tightened around her middle, made sharper by her fear. “Wardson,” she gasped.

“See, women die in childbirth all the time,” he grinned. “And if your midwife and her…help, were to run off and not be heard from again because they let their Lady die, so be it. And your dear husband hangs himself in grief?” Wardson tutted. “Nothing to do but to hand the farm over to whatever Jarl is waiting to take it under their wing.”

She stared at him, then forced herself to stand as upright as she could, even during a contraction. “I’m giving birth, that doesn’t mean I’m helpless.” She breathed in deeply, inhaling the early spring air of her farm, rich with the scent of newly sprouted greenery. Jemma wanted to see the field ripen to gold. She would not let this man take that from her.

Wardson drew a long knife from its sheath. “I am going to burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

Jemma pushed Flint behind her and raised her hands in loose fists, her gaze on Wardson’s face, but her attention on the knife. He circled her slowly, the knife glinting in the sunlight.

Another pain caught her, and she trembled as she struggled not to let her guard down.

“Thalla gu taigh na galla!” Fitz snarled, pushing between her and Wardson. Jemma cried out, in pain and fear that her husband would be killed before their child arrived.

Wardson grinned. “Wasn’t planning it this way, but once I have this place, I can afford the blood price on both of you.”

Fitz didn’t flinch. “That’s not what I heard a minute ago, you maggot. You’re so desperate for gold that you’d sell your carrion-eating father for it.”

Wardson’s mouth drew up into a rictus of a grin. “Big words for such a small man.”

The pain eased, and Jemma found her tongue. “Unlike you, he’s big where it counts.”

For a brief second, Wardson’s eyes flicked to her, and Fitz lashed out, knocking the knife out of Wardson’s fist. It dropped to the ground. Jemma wrapped her hand around the hilt, raising it high.

Wardson yelled, his eyes crazed. He reached for Jemma, and she aimed for his heart. Before she could strike, a sword appeared at Wardson’s throat.

Jemma stayed her hand, but Fitz’s fist landed solidly against Wardson’s jaw, making him jerk and nick his throat on the blade. A trickle of blood ran down to soak into the neckline of his tunic.

“I’ve got the arse,” Campbell said quietly, his arm steady as he kept the blade in place.

King Coulson strode forward, face grim. “I heard everything. Grant will be dealt with.” Coulson set a hand on Jemma’s arm, and his expression warmed. “I was coming to check on you.”

“You can’t have the farm,” she said, groaning as the harshest pain yet seized her.

“I have no intention of that, but we will speak—you, Fitz, and I—after your heir is born.” He squeezed her arm gently. “May Freja bless you.”

Jemma gasped out an acknowledgment, and Coulson nodded at the men with him, which included Davisson and Mack, to lead Wardson away. Jemma leaned heavily against Fitz.

“Get her inside,” Flint said, throwing open the door. “And onto the pallet.”

Jemma whimpered as Fitz guided her to where she could lie down, hardly able to think past the pain and fear for the life she carried.

****

“I’m here,” Fitz said, holding Jemma’s hand tightly. She looked pale, and he whispered a prayer to Freja to deliver Jemma and the child safely through this and promised a fine fat goat in return.

The midwife bent over Jemma and felt her stomach, Flint directing her hands. She grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asked.

“The baby’s not positioned right. We need to turn it,” Flint replied as he stepped away from the pallet. He grabbed one of the books he’d been reading and flipped it open to confer with the midwife.

“Fitz,” Jemma tugged at his hand. “I love you.” Her words were underscored with something desperate, and he hated that this was something he couldn’t fix.

He could only offer comfort. “I love you too, and before long we’ll be holding our little one.”

Jemma bit her lip, and her eyes went dull with pain.

The midwife stood. “You might want to leave for this,” she said to Fitz, voice calm and coaxing.

“No!” Jemma clutched his hand tighter. There was nothing in existence that would make him leave her side.

“I’m staying, do what you need to.”

Flint and the midwife nodded, and Fitz shifted until all he could see was Jemma’s face. There were beads of sweat on it, and a few tears that he wiped away.

He couldn’t help but hear Flint as he described to the midwife how to put her hands on Jemma’s belly. Fitz gritted his teeth, not wanting to let Jemma see how fear was sending icy fingers up his spine. He stroked her cheek and kept their gazes locked.

“Now,” the midwife grunted, and Jemma made an earthly wail as Flint and the midwife acted together. The noise cut off, and Jemma’s expression changed. Her hand went to her middle.

“I think…it’s better,” she said, then shuddered through another pain. “And I think I’m going to have a baby soon.”

Fitz didn’t know what to do besides hold her hand, which he did for what felt like ages. Jemma was struggling through the pains, and while he couldn’t take them from her, he spoke as calmly as he could about how well she was doing and how much he loved her while she clung to him.

Finally, the midwife had him shift behind Jemma and help hold her up, both of them on their knees.

Jemma went silent as Flint and the midwife encouraged her to push with the pains.

They came and went, over and over, until her head fell against his shoulder and she grunted harshly. There was a warm rush of liquid that soaked his knees, and then a very loud and piercing cry.

Jemma tilted her face against his neck and sobbed. He thought he might be weeping too.

The midwife held up a red-faced and howling baby that was kicking its little legs. “You have a daughter.” Fitz wiped at his eyes.

Jemma opened her eyes and gasped. “She’s beautiful.” She held out her arms and the midwife quickly wrapped a rough blanket around the little one, the cord connecting her to Jemma still attached, and placed the baby in Jemma’s arms.

“See if she’ll nurse,” Flint said. “The books say that’s the best for the mother after a difficult birth.”

Jemma scoffed. “It wasn’t that difficult.” Fitz made a face at her, but she only smiled down at the baby. “Hello,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I refused to pick any girl’s names out. You’ve surprised me, and your papa will have to name you.”

It hit him like a load of snow off the hall’s roof. This wee babe was his daughter. The tiny being who eagerly took Jemma’s offered nipple into its mouth was his daughter.

Jemma made an ugly noise, and her body stiffened. She relaxed a second later. Fitz looked away as the midwife deftly went after the cord between mother and child. She whisked away the afterbirth and barked orders at Flint. Quickly the baby, Jemma, and Fitz were clean, and Jemma was tucked in under the furs of the pallet.

Flint had made a fire, and the midwife brewed Jemma a drought of something before she left with Flint to let everyone know the baby had arrived and that the little girl and her mother were doing well.

Fitz sat heavily beside Jemma. He was exhausted, and he couldn’t fathom how Jemma could be awake. She handed the now quiet and snugly wrapped baby to him.

He stared down into his daughter’s bright blue eyes. She had a few brown curls on her head and was round-cheeked with a button nose.

“I love you,” he told his daughter. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Jemma smiled. “She needs a name.”

“Aileen,” he said immediately. “My little ray of sunshine.”

“Aileen Fitzdottir.” Jemma softly touched Aileen’s tiny hand. “I like it.”

The baby gave a teeny yawn, and her eyes closed. Fitz cradled her close. She was surprisingly heavy for being so small. “I hadn’t thought about that part, the last name. Perhaps it would be better to call her Jemmadottir?”

Jemma sat quite for a moment. “Aileen Fitzsimmonsdottir?”

“That’s a mouthful for such a little thing.”

“She’ll grow into it.” Jemma yawned as well. “Can you tend her while—”

There was a sharp knock at the door before it opened. Fitz hastily pushed Aileen back into her mother’s arms and jumped to his feet, ready to kill whoever was bothering his wife and child. The King strode in, accompanied by May, who didn’t look very pleased. Fitz glared at the intrusion.

“I apologize,” May said, voice icy. “I informed him that as steward, I was capable of handling anything related to the farm, but he insisted.”

“You can’t handle this.” Coulson rubbed his temple. “But you can witness.”

Fitz peered towards the door, where Mack and Campbell had taken up positions on either side of it. “What’s going on?” he snapped. “Jemma needs to rest.”

“I was traveling to the farm,” Coulson said, ignoring Fitz. “With the intent of arriving before the child.” He smiled wryly. “I didn’t expect to show up at the same time as her.”

“Aileen Fitzsimmonsdottir.” Fitz stood straight, his fists still tight. “My daughter.”

“Wonderful! Congratulations.” Coulson grinned down at the little one, then pulled several papers from a pocket in his overtunic. “I had these written and approved as soon as Campbell carried word to me of your marriage because there is more than one way to achieve my wish for this farm.”

“Which is?” Fitz hesitantly asked, squinted at the papers the King was waving.

Colson grinned. “Jemma Simmonsdottir, and Leopold Fitz of Alba, you are hereby given the rank of Jarl.” He removed two armbands denoting the rank from another pocket and handed one to Fitz and the other to Jemma.

Fitz stuttered out a thank you, but Jemma only frowned. “I can’t leave my holding as frequently as some of the others to play court,” she said. She shifted her legs uneasily under the covers.

“I won’t need you often, and I understand your home is your priority.” His gaze turned shrewd. “However, I do now have holdings with no Jarl to oversee them, as Wardson has been collared with iron and sent to work at one of my farmsteads.”

Fitz’s stomach sank at the prospect of Jemma overseeing so much. She’d be traveling far from home most of the year with so many holds to oversee. It was not the life he’d imagined, one with Jemma, Aileen, and perhaps other little ones always about. He had no idea if that was Jemma’s wish as well.

Jemma shook her head. “Give it to Campbell. I am in charge of as much as I need to be.”

Fitz relaxed and sighed in relief. “There’s your answer,” he told Coulson. “We wish no more than what we have. I’ll be sacrificing a goat tomorrow in thanks for the safe delivery of our child if you wish to stay and celebrate.”

May crossed her arms. “He’ll stay.”

Coulson smiled at her. “I’ve learned it best to do what you say.”

They left together, and the door thumped closed. Fitz turned the gold armband around and around in his hands. It was cool against his fingers but would warm up once he put it on. Jemma was already wearing hers.

“It matches,” she said, running a finger over her torque and then the band on her arm.

Fitz nodded. “Aye. But neither one is as bonnie as our wee lass.”

Jemma returned the babe to his arms. “Agreed, husband. Watch her close while I sleep.”

“Always.”

****

_Five Month Later, Scotland_

Annie, sometimes called Annie Fitz, was glad it was warm enough that she didn’t need a fire. How she was going to survive the coming winter, she didn’t know. She’d burned most of her furniture during the last one.

Her son’s father had refused to give her money since Fitz had been carried off. She hated him, and never loved him, and had only lain with him because he wanted her and as the son of a Laird, he could have made trouble for her is she refused.

Fitz had been the only good thing to come out of it.

Her boy, who she didn’t know if he was alive or dead. His father swore no ransom had been asked for, which made Annie think dead was the most likely choice. Her heart ached from missing him.

Her once comfortable home was nearly bare now, everything burned or sold to keep her alive.

Determined to keep going no matter what, Annie stood, put her thin shoes on over her bare feet, and went to see if she could find work, or perhaps food from a charitable hand, in the market.

Instead, outside she found a huge man striding towards her. A man whose face she knew. The Viking from the summer before had returned to finish the job of killing her.

Annie fisted her skirts, raising them to her ankles as she prepared to flee.

“Annie!” sang out a familiar voice, and she froze.

“Elena?” she asked, bewildered. Elena had practically lived at the little cottage with her, the best friend Annie ever had after she’d bore her son out of wedlock.

Elena, dressed in trousers and with hardened leather around her shoulders, rushed forward to hug Annie.

“Fitz!” Annie squeaked when Elena stepped back. “Tell me about my son, is he alive? Where is he? Why hasn’t he been ransomed?”

“First,” Elena said, “this is my husband, Mack.” She pointed to the huge Viking, who nodded at her.

Annie made a slightly curtsey out of rote habit. “Husband? I thought he was going to kill us!”

“He’s a lot of fun when you get to know him.” Elena patted his arm.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mack said in oddly accented Gaelic.

Annie raised a brow. “You as well…but tell me about Fitz, and why you’re here.”

“We’re here to ask you to come back to the Simmonsdottir farm. It’s but a few days over the sea if the wind holds.”

Annie pressed a hand to her forehead. “Over the sea? Farm?”

“Yes,” Elena said, grinning. “You’ll like it so much. And don’t worry, Fitz is fine.”

Annie had so much built up fear leave her all at once that she nearly fell over. “Will I be able to see him if I go with you?” Her son was alive. Alive. That was all that mattered.

“Of course,” Elena said. “Gather your things.”

“I barely have more than this dress.”

Elena frowned. “Then you’ll be given what you need there.” 

Annie glanced around her garden and at her cabin, where she’d raised her son. It was the only home she knew. “I’m not sure if—”

“Come see your granddaughter,” Elena said, and Annie’s head whipped back towards her.

“Excuse me?”

“Fitz has a wife and a child now.”

Annie pushed past Mack and Elena, heading towards the gate. She glanced over her shoulder. “What are you two waiting for?”

****

Jemma was nervous. The summer sky was as clear and blue as her husband and daughter’s eyes, the wind was light, and the salt-scent of the fjord was fresh and clean. The oars of the longboat were propelling it towards the shore, churning the surface of the water. Her stomach churned too.

She hadn’t told Fitz what cargo the ship carried, in case his mother had not survived the winter, or hadn’t wanted to see him, and had invented a flimsy excuse to have him wait with her at the docks.

Aileen’s little eyes were wide as she watched everything from where she was perched on Jemma’s hip. Fitz pointed out the birds overhead to her, and she grinned at them and waved a fist. A gull cawed in reply and Aileen kicked her legs. Jemma was so proud of her daughter and hoped Fitz’s mother would dote on her. She’d dressed Aileen in red that morning, including bright red woolen socks, because, much like her father, she’d cry if her feet got cold.

Fitz was smiling, and pressing the occasional kiss to Jemma’s forehead, which would make Aileen reach for his face and pout until she got a kiss too.

Jemma’s heart was buoyed up by love like the birds were on the wind.

The ship docked, the oars drawn in—much to Aileen’s burbled amazement—and the people on board being to trickle over the side.

Mack picked up and carried a slight woman over the bulwark that, judging by her dress, could only be Fitz’s mother.

Daisy hurried over to say high to an excited Aileen, who waved her arms excitedly at Daisy. “There’s your aunt Daisy,” Jemma said. “She’s happy to see you.” Daisy cooed at Aileen, and Jemma glanced at her husband just in time to see his face register that his mother was walking towards him.

“Mum,” he breathed, running forward and picking her up in a bear hug.

His mother returned it for a few seconds, then pushed pack and asked a question in Gaelic. Jemma didn’t catch everything she said, or Fitz’s response, but had learned enough to out enough to work out that Fitz’s mother wanted to see her granddaughter. Fitz took her shoulders and turned her so she was facing Jemma and Aileen.

“Feasgar math,” Jemma said. _Good afternoon_.

Fitz’s mother replied the same. What followed next was too much Gaelic all at once for Jemma to follow, but Fitz translated, looking a little shy. “She says she’s happy to meet you and congratulated you on…me.” Jemma smiled. “And then there was a lot about the baby and how sweet she is, and how grateful my mum is to be here.”

“Does she want to hold Aileen?”

His mother snapped something at him, then held out her hands. Jemma glanced at Fitz, who shrugged. “She told me not to be daft, and of course she wants to hold her.”

Jemma carefully handed Aileen over. Grandmother and Granddaughter grinned happily at each other, and Fitz put his arm around Jemma’s waist. “Thank you,” he said in her ear, and she shivered with delight from how his neatly trimmed beard rasped against her.

“Now all our family is here.”

Fitz threaded his fingers with hers. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

****

_That Night_

Fitz stretched and took his shoes off before crawling into the sleeping cupboard where Jemma would already be waiting for him.

Catching up with his mum had been wonderful, and he’d even managed to procure a warm set of socks for her before bedtime. Tomorrow, Flint was going to spend some time with her as well, showing her around during the morning as Fitz had to experiment with the new and improved winnowing fork he’d spent all summer perfecting.

His mum had nearly passed out when Fitz had explained he was a lord now, made so by a decree from the king, and that he had a farm depending on him as well as a wife and child. It wasn’t until he’d seen her nearly in tears that he understood how much he’d changed in the time he’d been side by side with Jemma.

It was a good life to live.

In the cupboard, he found his daughter fast asleep, resting the little bed he’d made for her. It was a small cradle that hung from the ceiling at one end of the cupboard, the ropes creaking as they rocked her gently. Aileen always went to sleep easily in it, and Fitz was rather proud he’d come up with the idea.

He shifted his attention to Jemma, and his eyes widened. She sat naked, with the covers only pulled up to her waist, and she was looking at little Aileen through the rose quartz and smiling. She turned towards him, still glancing through the rock, so he scooted up and bed and blew the candles in the alcove out. The smoke from the bee’s wax candle lingered in the air, smelling of honey.

It made Fitz think of a different honey that he longed to taste.

There was a tink as she set the rose quartz down, but then Jemma’s hands found him in the dark and pulled him forward for a hungry kiss. She tasted of berries, and her breast felt full as he gently cupped it.

Jemma’s tongue darted into his mouth. He sucked on it, making her groan very softly. He broke the kiss. “What do you want, wife?”

“You, husband.” Jemma yipped as he kissed her again, harder.

One of his hands kneaded her breast while the other tangled in her hair.

Fitz kissed from her lips, along her jaw, and down her neck until he was pressing kisses to the skin just above the gold ring that lay there. “I know what I’d like,” she whispered, fisting his hair.

“And what’s that?” he asked, happy to do anything she wished for. His life was better than any dream he’d ever had, and he wanted to show her how much he belonged to her.

Jemma’s fingers found his torque and traced it around his neck before she raised them to press against his lips. “Munn.”

Fitz's chest warmed. Jemma always knew what he wanted most. He kissed his way down her body, thrilled at the soft sounds she made. It’d never mattered if the entire hall had heard them before, but now they didn’t want to wake the baby.

He settled between her legs, and Jemma’s fingers clutched at his hair. He teased her, rubbing his cheek against her thigh.

He’d never expected to go from being a bastard in a cow barn to being a Jarl with farm and family. He rubbed his wool-covered feet together and grinned. Jemma’s fingers found his torque and yanked him towards her pussy.

Fitz was more than happy to give her exactly what she wanted.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I swear comments make me write faster! [ @sunalsolove ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Torque: Epilogue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007985) by [sunalso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso)




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